


The Shining Beacon (The Later Years)

by CocksAndClocks



Series: The Shining Beacon [5]
Category: RWBY
Genre: (at least as compliant as we have been able to through predicting major events), Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gay Sex, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Light Angst, M/M, Multi, Pre-Canon, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rimming, they get together in this one we promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2019-12-29 22:55:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18303461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CocksAndClocks/pseuds/CocksAndClocks
Summary: Qrow Branwen has graduated Beacon Academy, but his departure from it creates a ripple through the school that touches his friends, family, and the headmaster himself. Apart, Ozpin and Qrow will suffer the consequences of separation; together, they will find new and old reasons to protect their school, their world, and each other.Please note that tags will be added as they become relevant, and some chapters will be tagged for individual and temporary themes.*On temporary hiatus!*





	1. In which Ozpin and Qrow fall apart, while apart

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to The Later Years! We're pleased you have joined us for the final installment of "The Shining Beacon", and we hope you enjoy the journey as Ozpin and Qrow move from student/teacher, to friends, to lovers. 
> 
> Please note that tags will be added as they become relevant, and some chapters will be tagged for individual and temporary themes.
> 
> (Because of problematic anonymous commentary, anon comments have been disabled. We apologize for the inconvenience. We hope this is temporary. If you cannot be polite in the comments, please reconsider commenting at all.)

For a month after Qrow Branwen graduated Beacon, Ferra Agrios watched the headmaster slowly fall apart. 

It wasn't dramatic; he never was regarding the emotions he always seemed to be so far above feeling. Instead he quietly, politely, left his soul in his former student's hands and went about his days a shell of himself. 

None of the other faculty noticed, of course. The signs were subtle to the point of invisibility, but Professor Agrios had worked by Ozpin's side for one too many decades not to find the indications glaringly obvious - the sudden attendance at every faculty meeting, the empty smiles he offered the other professors, the lights in the tower that never turned off, the looser fit of his clothes, the long walks he took in the evenings when he thought everyone else had gone to bed. 

The man was halved. 

Ferra hardly knew what to do about it. It was clear that something had happened between Ozpin and Branwen, but the headmaster was private about his personal affairs to the point of utter mystery. He would not appreciate her interference, even if to ask if he intended on allowing himself to waste away entirely. She was not blind; Branwen had harbored romantic feelings for Ozpin for at least a year, probably longer. Ozpin’s own affections had become clear enough, and then impossible not to see, until Ferra was certain beyond a doubt that Qrow would remain at Beacon like a fixture, Ozpin’s spy, dearest friend, lover.

And yet he had gone.

Ferra held Ozpin as he wept, until he had no more tears to shed, until he shakily released her, drying his eyes and apologizing for concerning her. This was, he assured her with a tremulous voice, not an incident that would be repeated, and in a few words, had dismissed her from the office, from the opportunity to offer any more comfort.

He would suffer alone, as he always did, as though he had to in atonement for who and what he was.

She let him dismiss her without protest; he knew she had stood by him through everything and would continue to do so, with as much or as little information as he chose to give her, but she still cursed his name in the elevator, and Branwen’s name as well, as she fought back angry tears.

But a month spent watching Ozpin's quiet suffering was more than Ferra could bear. Before retiring, on a warm summer evening, she gazed up at the lights in the tower, so unnecessary at a time when students were out for the season. She nearly didn't go up, weighing the consequences of violating Ozpin's privacy, but enough was enough.

She pressed the com line at the bottom of the elevator. The line clicked on but no voice came through. She tapped her heel impatiently. 

"Sir, I'm coming up," she said. 

Again silence met her, but the little red light flickered to green, the elevator doors opening to receive her.

She hadn't practiced a speech or even a question. She merely knew she had to say something before the headmaster's mood overtook him completely. 

Ozpin was at his desk - naturally - but it was not the scene she expected. His jacket was haphazardly draped over the back of his chair, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his iconic mug replaced by a crystal whiskey glass, a decanter beside that, bathed in the glow from the monitors hovering above the desk. Between two fingers, a cigarette, the thin tendrils of smoke rising above him lazily.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

"Good evening, Ferra," he said. His voice had no unnatural tone, no sign of distress. In fact, a small smile tugged at his lips.

She had never known a man full of such utter bullshit.

“I didn’t,” he said. “Not…this version of me, anyway. But half a dozen versions of me did, and I found the habit beckoning to me after all this time.”

“You know what I think of it, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure. I have something of an addictive personality, Ferra. Smoking, drinking, working…they all have their hold on me in some way or another. I keep them at bay well enough most of the time.”

“But not now,” she said.

“No,” Ozpin remarked offhandedly. “I am not keeping any of them away now. Especially my most severe addiction.”

“Which is what?”

The little smile returned, sadder this time. “Something I denied myself for a long time, for the better of everyone. I drank from that cup willingly enough, and now that he is gone and I have become sober, I find the absence crippling.”

Ferra said nothing, taking a seat across from him. 

“I think of nothing else except how his influence made me feel,” Ozpin finished, almost carelessly. He raised his glass to his lips again. “The whiskey helps.”

“Does it?”

“I can pretend.”

Ferra sighed. There was likely nothing she could do while he was in this mood – nothing but remain with him, and ride out the worst of it together.

"And you didn't think to share?"

"I fully intended to," Ozpin remarked. "It was a tradition, you see. Every year when the fourth-year students graduated, Mr. Branwen and I would have a glass." The headmaster paused, glancing at a window that opened on the leftmost monitor. "Alas, he didn't come this year. I waited all this time, but it seems the tradition is mine alone once more."

"Ozpin," she said softly. "Tell me what happened."

Ozpin merely shrugged with one shoulder, his manner unconcerned. "You were correct, Ferra. You always are. Mr. Branwen and I had a falling out of sorts. Irreconcilable differences."

She read between the words. "He confessed to you."

The headmaster drained his glass before answering, his eyes on the monitors before him. "He did," Ozpin said. 

"And you refused him."

"Of course."

Ferra sighed, long and weary. "You’re the biggest idiot I know."

Ozpin's eyes flickered to her at last, his expression blank. "Ferra, he was a student."

"He was. _Was._ He isn't anymore."

"A morally ambiguous area at best."

"Which you haven't always taken issue with in the past," Ferra retorted. "Ozpin, if he's graduated, you have no real reason to reject him. Unless," she added, dropping the polite aversions to Ozpin's intimate preferences, "you don't return Branwen's affections. And there is nothing in heaven or hell that can convince me you don’t love him."

At last a reaction - Ozpin's face colored lightly. He cleared his throat and poured another whiskey. 

"It isn't that simple," he murmured.

"Of course it isn't. It never is and it never will be."

She sighed again, glancing at the lights of the monitors; one showed a series of maps, another a kingdom's huntsman bulletin, the final a compilation of locations and dates -

"He's in Mistral at the moment," Ozpin said, following her eyes. "He’s difficult to track, but I’ve been able to catch news of his movements here and there.”

“Why won’t you just call him? Tell him how you feel.”

_“Aliis si licet, tibi non licet.”_

Ferra made an irritated noise. “I don’t know what that means, but I’m sure it’s bullshit.”

Ozpin only smiled again, brief and unfeeling.

"You were able to reach him in a way no one else could," Ferra said gently. "You saved him."

"And so I am again by letting him go."

"Even if it kills you?"

Ozpin snorted into his glass. "You're being dramatic."

"Call it what you will, but you aren't fooling me. You’re a mess. You know sending him away was the wrong choice."

She was almost sure she saw the glaze of tears in his eyes, but then he shook his head and smiled, a wry expression, taking another drink.

"I'm sure you're right as always, Ferra," he said. "One day I may realize that. Until then, after tonight, I would prefer this matter not be mentioned again."

“If that’s what you want, I’ll hold my tongue.”

“Thank you,” Ozpin said, his voice very quiet. He sniffled and she peered at his face through the green glow of the computer, the light catching on the tears that trailed gently down his cheeks. 

“If I may ask another favor,” he murmured. “Would you stay with me? Just for tonight?”

Ferra stood and rounded the desk, taking the glass from him – the cigarette she dropped in it, hearing the sizzle as it drowned in whiskey – and put her hands on his back, pulling him against her.

“You stupid thing,” she said fondly. “You’ll never be rid of me.”

***

Professor Ozpin left the bar to find the evening bitterly cold, buttoning the heavy black pea coat he wore in defense of the unseasonable weather, thrusting hands in pockets as his breath came out in thick clouds.

The rest of his faculty remained inside the building, celebrating the young Professor Port's birthday. Ozpin had spent the last hours seated between Glynda and Peter, too polite to decline every drink he was offered, each professor suddenly so generous with buying rounds of a whiskey cocktail Peter claimed he himself had invented.

"It's called a Backfire," he announced proudly, ordering a round as the Beacon staff took their seats. "A blended whiskey shaken with citrus and topped with just a hint of the kingdom's smokiest scotch."

Ozpin sipped the bright yellow drink along with the first toast, opening his mouth to compliment the flavor when the aftertaste hit him, his throat closing as if filled with smoke. He coughed violently - not the only professor to do so, Glynda doubled over beside him, her eyes filling with tears.

"Tastes like black powder!" Peter said, roaring with laughter at the reactions. "Give it a few sips and you won't want to drink anything else!"

Glynda shot the young professor a look that suggested he was mad, but Ozpin cleared his throat as best he could and sipped again, the smoke not _quite_ as devastating this time, the coughs not _quite_ as violent.

"Are you all right, sir?" Glynda asked, wiping her eyes.

He nodded, unable to speak for the smoke that seemed to fill him. 

Her expression was skeptical - less from the drink, Ozpin knew, and more from his uncharacteristic depression that had lingered for so many months. Ferra Agrios, only months from her retirement, had told Glynda the headmaster was ill. Ever tactful regarding his personal matters, Ozpin thought. Glynda had asked no questions beyond expressing her desire to help him in any way possible, a sweet gesture that was nonetheless impossible, unless she could bring Qrow Branwen back to Beacon and somehow have the man forgive Ozpin.

Unlikely on all counts, the headmaster knew. 

His rejection of Qrow's affections had been difficult - devastating, he admitted to himself - and he was certain he had destroyed what good opinions of himself that Qrow once carried. Almost a year later, and Ozpin had heard nothing of the young huntsman, relying on channels of suspect information to track Qrow's movements. To reassure Ozpin that Qrow was at least safe, even if it meant the headmaster nightly tortured himself with the distances between them. 

It did not occur to Ozpin to reach out to Qrow. The young man wouldn't want to hear from him. Better than Qrow should move on, find someone else - that thought hurt most of all - and leave Ozpin and Beacon to be a dark footnote in his early life. 

Now, catching the concern on Glynda's face, Ozpin offered a smile - almost genuine - the days slowly, _slowly_ becoming more bearable with Qrow's absence. A large part of him was determined to have some fun at the party, already made interesting with Peter's usual lovable pomp. 

A very small part of him could not shake the fact that Qrow's movements had been something of a mystery for months, all of Ozpin's usual channels coming up empty with hints regarding the huntsman's whereabouts.

Ozpin took the rest of his cocktail like a shot, coughing anew.

"Now _that_ is how it's done, sir!" Peter boomed, the staff laughing appreciatively. 

"Another?"

"Why not," the headmaster said.

From beside him, Glynda shook her head slowly, smiling to herself. 

After a few hours, Ozpin could not quite recall how many Backfires he had. He had skipped dinner, lying through his teeth to Glynda, his appetite still touch and go with his darker moods. His head was almost as foggy - smoky - as the drinks he drank when he made his farewells to his staff, shaking Peter's hand and wishing the young professor a happy birthday. 

Glynda asked if she could escort him, but he declined the kind offer, wishing to spend a little more time alone before he went back to his office, his empty bedroom. Eight months after everything and he thought he should be well past all this nonsensical emotion, and yet it remained, faded but still ever present in the back of his mind. He would let it surface, as it now threatened to do, walk slowly back to the academy, and hopefully be too tired or too intoxicated to think more when he arrived back.

He watched his breath make lazy clouds in the cold for a minute before starting his trip home, his thoughts unspecific, but all centered around Qrow Branwen. These days he alternated between thinking he had done exactly as he should have, after Qrow's graduation, or thinking he had made the biggest mistake of his life. He thought that if he had made the moral decision of letting Qrow go, he should not feel quite so miserable for so long. But then again, moral decisions were rarely easy decisions, and perhaps he would have regretted allowing Qrow to remain. 

Perhaps Qrow would have realized all his affection had been misplaced as a result of their friendship and Ozpin's authority, and the young man would have left regardless, disappointed in Ozpin's true nature when finally realized against what Qrow perceived him to be.

Ozpin had no such illusions about his own affections. He had never felt so strongly about another person, in all conceivable manners. Had Qrow stayed, allowed Ozpin to truly feel everything he had so long denied, and then left in disappointment - the headmaster was not entirely certain he could survive the thought. 

Ozpin paused in his walk, glancing at his surroundings, uncertain as to his exact location, his thoughts so darkly consuming that he had simply wandered. He stood in front of a tavern, a seedy little place with more shadows than light in the windows. He sighed and walked on, glancing down the alleys he passed, well aware that a distracted man in these parts meant an easy target for pickpocketing, or worse. 

He caught sight of something red in an alley, a scrap of fabric with rough edges that hung over a dumpster, shivering in the cold. 

He thought immediately of Qrow's cape. 

He was in the alley without making the conscious effort of movement, withdrawing his hands from warm pockets to touch the cloth. It _did_ strongly resemble the fabric Qrow used to wear, caught and torn on a bit of spiky lumber thrown haphazardly in the trash. Ozpin sighed, releasing the scrap and calling himself a sentimental fool, turning to leave the alley, nearly tripping over more garbage scattered about, black trash bags stacked along the walls. 

He lightly kicked the loose shoe at his feet, the boot rolling toward the garbage bags, landing beside its twin.

This shoe was still occupied.

Ozpin stepped closer, squinting in the dim light, following the foot to the attached leg and torso, thinking that the shirt this body wore was entirely too familiar, the red cape cast over shoulders matched the scrap in the trash too well.

_It can’t be._

Ozpin stood staring at Qrow for an immeasurable amount of time, thinking his whiskey-fogged brain had imagined this up to torment him in new ways. It was impossible that after so many nights waiting for Qrow to return and shake sense into the headmaster that they should be reunited like this, in a dark alley with Qrow unconscious in the trash outside a dive bar. 

The most selfish part of Ozpin wished simply to leave, unable to look at Qrow without every part of him aching. And yet he absolutely could not - the weather was bitter and Qrow had no coat. If he had drunk himself into a coma - _if,_ Ozpin thought, only slightly disappointed - he was at risk of freezing to death. 

The headmaster unbuttoned his coat and slipped it from his shoulders, kneeling beside the garbage bags that Qrow had made his bed. He hesitated for a moment before taking the young man's hand - _so cold_ \- and wrestling limp limbs into the sleeves, buttoning the coat all the way up to Qrow's chin.

He had facial hair now, Ozpin thought, his fingers trailing Qrow's chin until he caught himself, withdrawing from the act of affection. Badly in need of a shave or a trim. Every part of Qrow was disheveled, his shirt stained with dark marks - blood, the headmaster knew without thinking - his knuckles bearing marks of violence both old and new. His left eye was darkly circled in purple.

None of this evidence implied Qrow had been fighting Grimm.

_I did this to him._

The headmaster pulled his scroll from his suit jacket, using action to avoid the emotions that threatened to drown him. Glynda picked up immediately.

"Sir?"

"Glynda," he said, still studying Qrow's face - to determine if the young man required medical assistance, he told himself. "I need your help with something. I'm sending my coordinates to your scroll, if you would be so kind."

"Yes, sir."

He hung up without another word, sending the data and leaning back on his feet, still crouched beside Qrow's sleeping form. He could carry Qrow back to Beacon, have him recover in the hospital wing.

Like old times.

Ozpin shook his head to himself. Qrow was in Vale and had not attempted to contact him; the implication of that was clear enough. If he didn't want to see Ozpin, the headmaster would not intrude more than merely seeing him out of the cold.  
Glynda seemed to take ages to arrive, peering into the suspect alley.

"Sir?"

"Over here, Glynda."

The Huntress paused at his side, following his gaze to the unconscious huntsman. Her lips parted in recognition. 

"Sir..."

"Glynda, if you could see that Mr. Branwen is treated for his condition and placed in a room at a hotel, I would very much appreciate it. I believe Vale's Best is not far and would not require much of your Semblance."

"Yes, sir. But..."

"Have the staff put it under my name," Ozpin continued, ignoring the question in her voice. "I'll take care of the bill myself."

"Yes, sir. Is that all?"

"Yes, Glynda, thank you."

He left without another word, without explanation, without wishing to see her lift Qrow's limp body from the trash heap. He went straight home this time, hurriedly, opening his bedroom door and then immediately the decanter of whiskey, pouring a glass with shaking hands, shooting the liquor recklessly, his only thoughts on getting thoughts out of his head, not caring if he ended up in exactly the same manner as Qrow that night, or perhaps rather wishing he would.

***

Qrow awoke to darkness.

 _What day is it?_

Probably Tuesday... no wait - Thursday? He never knew for certain anymore. Motion proved… a bad idea, nausea washing over him at the slightest movement, yelling at him to remain inert as he had for at least a day.

He needed a drink. If he was smart, it’d be water. 

He grabbed a bottle from whatever hotel he found himself in and downed the contents. The room spun, lurching the man forward, Qrow barely catching himself on the arm of a nearby coat on a chair.

It was a man's coat. Not his coat. But definitely a man's coat.

Qrow glanced around the room using the chair as a brace while he looked for his impromptu partner, the search yielding empty results.

_Ah well, I was going to kick him out anyway._

The room swam by, the figure crashing against invisible waves sailing into the bathroom. Qrow kicked on the tub water further drowning his stability, and cursing vividly when he landed on an old wound. 

New wound? 

He couldn't keep track anymore.

A thoughtless hand tested the scalding waters of the half-plugged bath, the color turning dark pink to match his skin as he picked shattered glass from swollen knuckles. Carelessly he careened into the watery depths, to wash away the pain, to never break surface again…

_It’d be so easy._

_Don’t think about it._

_Would he be disappointed?_

_…_

_He would blame himself._

Qrow sank into the swelling pools, soaking with the shower thumping down on the partial bath until the water ran cold, thoughts empty. 

_Would he miss me?_

_Could he even want this?_ he asked of his splintered, blue tinted nails. Their trembling response roared volumes he refused to hear, Qrow punishing them with a slap against the metal shower lever.

He toweled off quickly, the friction against blistered skin repeating to Qrow he was still alive, still fighting the war against his fate, each pop and crack of each joint recalling how little time he had left in this life.  
_Not soon enough,_ he thought knowing his Semblance would force his existence regardless of his desires. 

A defeated sigh, resigned his protests, Qrow mesmerized as fog fought ripples against the cooling air against the mirror, until at last he wiped the stubborn substance free from its hopeless contest. The pitiful sight that remained tugged at downturned lips, paled, and cracked barely visible through wild wired forest, pasty marbled tiles on the back wall blending to the edges of bruised and blue-veined flesh.

 _Prisoners of war look better,_ he examined the stranger in the mirror, all the new concaves to his tattered form, hyper-defined contrasting his apathy - he was going to need another pin for his pants soon.

Not that it mattered anymore. 

Qrow didn't bother shaving; the hair helped with the frozen winter air. Or it helped him forget what he looked like. Forget how young he looked. 

Forget he was too young for...

_If he didn’t want you then, he sure as shit wouldn’t want your sorry ass now._

Maybe it would be a whiskey morning after all.

Coffee pot located, he filled the water tank full with every tiny whiskey he found in the mini fridge finding little joy listening to the mechanical cogs struggle against the thick abused substance.

_They sound like his office…_

_Stop it,_ he growled snatching early the Frankenstein concoction which continued to bubble for life spilt against his hand. He downed the contents in one go - the acid breakfast punishment for his weak constitution.

He dressed, his stomach rousing mutiny with each motion, the only solace now the spin lessening to a bad round of pinata instead of a rocket fueled carousel; he debated food, but decided against it in favor of more liquid carbs. He could last another day, or pilfer a snack on a flight if truly on the verge of passing out.

The man headed out of the hotel room, some young thing colliding into him on his way.

He unleashed a harsh curse driving the woman to apologize profusely.

"I - I am _so, so_ sorry..."

Qrow shook his head, using his palm to drive her face free from his departure. 

"Shhhhhh," he ordered, the pounding headache he had before the shower coming back with a vengeance in the glare of the blinding hallway lights, triggering him to pinch the bridge of his nose.

_Just like he used to -_

"Professor Ozpin, I - "

The man stopped dead in his tracks and spun on his heel quicker than should be possible given his still inebriated state. Desperation clawed at him, consuming him. 

_Ozpin -_

Qrow forced the slight form against a wall easily, his desperation fueling a newfound ambition. An arm punched against the frame blocked her view of the hotel room, away from _him_.

 _Professor Ozpin._ He couldn’t have been imagining it. Could have. Who knew anymore.

"What did you say?"

"Sorry?"

"No, no. The other bit."

"Professor Ozpin?"

Crimson eyes narrowed to slits devouring her every word.

"He was here?"

"Well, yes... you mean you aren't?"

Qrow laughed bitterly, a sharp pain thinly veiled in the off note. He shook his head leaning in close to her. "No, sweetheart. I'm not. Why would you think I was?"

"...the room. It's in his name."

Everything screeched to an abrupt halt, scarce else audible over Qrow’s heart racing in his chest. "It is?"

"Yes... I just thought that - "

"When did he check in?"

"Two days ago. I just wanted to know if - "

Qrow cursed, cutting her off again, frantic hands scraping against scalp, dragging against sunken eyes and cheeks. He hadn’t been out for a day – he’d been _days_. No wonder he was dehydrated. No wonder everything ached. No wonder everything hurt. No wonder he couldn’t stop thinking about –

_Drown it out._

"Look, sweetie, if he was here, he’s long gone now," Qrow replied, watching delicate features droop to disappointment. “That’s how he is.”

"I - I see..." she said softly.

Eyes hungry for shared distress watched her, Qrow’s cool exterior still solidly pinning the slight body against the wall. Internally, birds pecked and pulled his thoughts every which direction.

_What does she want with Ozpin? Did Ozpin really find me? What happened while we were together? Why did he leave? Was he disappointed?_

_...is no hope left?_

_SHUT UP!_

Qrow cursed again, smothering emotions in the fresh alcohol coursing through his veins. 

"Look, forget whatever he was doing here. You need to learn to stay out of people's business unless you're giving them something they want." 

He looked her over again craving a deeper distraction. She was attractive enough, yet he did not offer the room - the revelation that Ozpin's name was attached to it somehow more nauseating than before.

Time had flown by, and still the graduate couldn't shake his former headmaster. However many fucking months, and he still dreamt of soothing turns of gears; soft spoken lectures not really lectures at all; the constant smell of coffee brewing in the clocktower. More than that, Qrow couldn't forget the man behind it all - silver hair, honey eyes, porcelain skin... he couldn't stand the thought of sharing his memories with anyone, let alone hand them over on a silver platter.

He still wanted Ozpin to himself.

_Fuck._

Qrow released her, backing into the hotel room doorway. "Some advice - stay away from Ozpin unless you mean business. He's a busy man."

"I-I... just wanted an autograph..." she confessed, holding out a piece of paper he hadn't noticed before.

The man barked out a harsh laugh. "Oh, honey...go home. Learn to leave people alone..." He closed the distance between them again, snatching the paper, his voice deepening in warning. "You never know who's dangerously lurking around the corner."

Wide eyes threatened tears before she shoved Qrow back into the room and ran off.

Unfazed, the man watched her leave, then returned to the room, kicking the door shut to sequester him with what scarcity of his former love. He retrieved the coat, pulling it to his nose, and inhaling as deeply as lungs would allow – immediately his body felt warm, relaxed, absorbing the familiar safety of the scent. Legs melting to jelly, Qrow allowed the wall to catch his weight. Again he inhaled; again the warm fuzzy feeling consumed him.

He never wanted this to end. He wanted to keep this smell with him forever, he wanted -

Heat rose to his face; knuckles tightened on the coat collar; an agonized scream echoed in the empty room.

Body trembling, the young man forced himself to toss the coat to the nearby bed, then he slid down the wall collapsing to the floor.

Face in his hands, he fought the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

Qrow clenched and unclenched his fists, willing everything to disappear.

_Just leave. Like he did. Like you did. Just leave just leave just -_

Sometime later thudding footfalls came running down the hallway. Within seconds he heard the hotel staff knocking on the door, asking if the occupants were alright.

_No, I’m not fucking all right._

Unwilling to face anyone, Qrow ran for the window, snatching the coat on the way, flying off for Beacon Academy.

***

The crow perched outside the headmaster’s grand window silently watched the professor work at his desk.

_He’s lost weight._

Hours stretched on, yet the man never left, so neither did the crow. 

_He’s overworking himself again._

As alcohol burned off, memories trickled to consciousness.

_Secretly holding hands under tables during the Vytal Festival._

_Stupid lies told to suspicious students, “We’re just trusted colleagues…”_

_Their first year anniversary in a few months, celebrated at year end over their favorite whiskey._

_Waking up on cold mornings, free from nightmares, wrapped safely in his warm arms._

_“Yes.”_

Qrow closed his eyes, praying he could hear Ozpin’s voice say that word. And yet. All utterances were never to pass, stolen forever the moment he pushed things too far…the moment he confessed.

The memories cut him, energy seeping from him like an open wound, threatening with each exhausted waver to topple the bird from the ledge – yet he remained, petulant, defiant, as the man in the office.

It wasn't until evening when the headmaster's new young assistant forced him out of the room for dinner that the professor even rose from his chair. 

Still the crow remained, waiting for the passing of nerves spawned from returning to his old...no. 

This was no longer his nest.

_You were kicked out, remember?_

“Don’t touch me,” he repeated Ozpin’s words until he heard nothing else.

 _Was this ever really?_ he wondered unable to finish the question. Deep down he knew. He knew for four years he had only been fooling himself, that he truly had no one, no place to call home.

Newfound resolve pushed him forth, the window lock springing with ease under pressure of old favorite tools, still safely stashed on the window sill. And yet, couldn't bring himself to transform right away. So familiar, so foreign… the room was a nostalgic nightmare witnessed for the first time. 

The gears, turning as they ever had, now assaulted tender ears whispering old secrets, memories; the windows vaguely opaque, failed to disguise the bird that danced at the headmaster’s feet, tugging at trims to force him outside; the coffeemaker –

Wasn’t on. 

The distant accustomed scent of many celebrations overcame the crow sending him tumbling beak first on the headmaster's desk.

_He’s drinking._

Over and over Qrow inhaled, each breath more intoxicating than the last. He shouldn’t reminisce. He couldn’t reminisce, he didn’t have time. Any minute he could be found out…

And yet, Qrow was reluctant to shift to his natural form, the act bringing him one step closer to the inevitable parting once again.

Feathers ruffled against one another, one slipping to the desk beneath the bird’s claws. Qrow wasn’t surprised, he’d been losing them more frequently these last chaotic months.

_If I don’t leave now, I might not be able to…_

Waddling to the edge of the desk, Qrow gazed at the floor, seeing the steep ledge for the first time, the sharp edges of the desk, the hard lines of gears he could easily be caught in…

A gentle lean propelled the bird to the floor, the man transforming on the way, barely catching himself on Ozpin's desk before he fell to the floor. The action wasn’t necessary, the fall not at all a threat to his larger form. Still. Ozpin, always translucent as the glass desk surface, always plotting how to save others, always a support ready to catch Qro… always hardened, always scheming, always more of a threat than any knew. 

Qrow debated if he had ever truly known the man at all, their wordless conversations suddenly a mystery Qrow could no longer define. 

_How many times did I misread him?_

Gently, he draped the pea coat on the headmaster's chair, retrieving the paper he stole from the fan, he scribbled a thank you. He held the paper in his hands staring at it for what seemed like hours unsure if he wanted the man to catch him breaking in... 

_For old time's sake._

The words blurred as the water saturated the paper. 

Gritting his teeth, Qrow tossed the note on the coat, wiping his face on his soiled left sleeve. If constant state of intoxication was not enough to erase the pain, he would have to double down his efforts.

A ding of the elevator interrupted his plotting, sending his heart racing anew as he flew out into the night, wiping clean the memory of what he had done.

***

Ozpin returned to his office after dinner - half of dinner - shifting angrily in his stomach. He couldn't bring himself to eat more, even under Glynda's stare, half concerned and half exasperated. He was dreadfully hungover, the past two nights spent in whiskey-soaked self-indulgence, sobriety only bringing sober thoughts he wished he would forget with enough alcohol.

Ferra, splitting her duties with Glynda these days, gave him space, pretending as well as she could that everything was fine, until Ozpin would call her on a bad night, and she would sit with him, gently taking the whiskey glass from his hands, making him tea, sitting in silence as they considered the lack of words of comfort.

He knew he was acting exactly like Qrow. He knew it was the pinnacle of unhealthy. 

He knew he didn't care.

Dinner lurched within him again and he paused, one hand on the elevator door and the other over his mouth, his mind trying to determine whether his body would reject the small amount of food he had managed over the past two days. The wave of nausea passing, the headmaster made his way back to his desk, to the keypad that promised at least a physical barrier to protect him from the rest of the world. 

He discovered the coat on his chair in no small amount of shock, immediately scanning the office for a sign of any other presence, any hope that Qrow might still –

Ozpin knew he wouldn't stay. 

Qrow had probably waited hours for the moment that the headmaster would leave. He went to the open window, the cold air seeping into the office, trying to catch a glimpse of a black bird in the darkness. He thought he saw some movement over the trees, but he couldn't be sure it wasn't merely wishful thinking. It took several minutes - he began to shiver in the chilled breeze - before he could bring himself to close the window, turning back to the coat on his chair. He picked it up, the slip of paper fluttering to the ground. 

_Thank you._

The handwriting was shaken, almost drunk, but definitely his. Ozpin flipped the paper to the other side, looking for another message he knew wasn't there. Still he stared at it, willing some hint of Qrow's thoughts to appear. Ozpin traced the unsteady letters, pausing at the spots on the paper, lifting it to his eyes to inspect it more closely.

_Had Qrow been crying?_

Ozpin tried to imagine why, but his ideas stalled at a single thought - that it was Ozpin who caused him so much pain that Qrow couldn't even bear to face him. The headmaster swallowed over the rising lump in his throat, trying to process the barrage of emotions that came with the thought. 

This is what it felt like to be rejected, he realized. This is how Qrow felt so many months ago.

He took out his scroll and wavered over the contact names. Even if he could bring himself to text Qrow, he didn't have the words to explain how he felt. He didn't even know if he wanted to beg Qrow to come back, or simply say goodbye. 

He didn’t truly deserve either, but Qrow deserved the closure of Ozpin letting him leave without a fight.

He closed his messages and typed in a familiar number instead. 

"Hello?"

"Ferra."

"...are you all right, Ozpin?”

Ozpin took off his glasses and rubbed his hand over his eyes. 

"I…I’m all right. I think.”

His voice was shaking and she heard it, the sigh on the other line soft.

"What's wrong?"

"He was here."

"Qrow."

Ozpin flinched at the name spoken aloud. 

"What happened?"

"He didn't stay. I didn't even see him." He took a long breath to compose his voice; Ferra waited patiently. "I feel like I'm going mad," he said.

"Love can do that, sir," she said.

He didn't object to the word, or to the feeling, or to anything at all. 

Another soft sigh. "I'm on my way," she said. "Stay out of the whiskey."

Ozpin almost smiled. "Then hurry," he said, disconnecting. He opened the door to his bedroom, leaving it ajar for Ferra. He opened the whiskey and tipped the entire bottle to his lips, waiting for his only friend to arrive and call him an old fool.

 _Just like old times,_ he thought miserably, and drank again.

***

Ferra Agrios packed an overnight bag on a whim, knowing she would find Ozpin in some state of intoxication when she arrived, knowing she would stay with him all night if he required it.

The man was something like a thousand years old and couldn't handle a simple case of heartbreak.

She wanted to laugh but couldn't find it funny. 

She wanted to curse his name for this inconvenience but she couldn't.

_This is what you do for your friends. For your children._

She called for a cab and waited in the cold outside her doorstep, skimming her scroll impatiently for a name she ought to have deleted ages ago. She only hesitated in typing while searching for the words.

"Don't give up on him yet, Branwen."

She sent the text and replaced the scroll in her pocket, not waiting for a reply. She doubted she would get one, but it would be enough. 

Enough to remind Branwen that this wasn’t over, that this was temporary, until two men could put aside all their stupidity and talk to each other.

Enough.

For now.


	2. In which it is darkest before the dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Smoke and gin it's all pretend  
> That I don't know there's something killing me  
> As my friends start their families  
> I should be happy but I'm grieving
> 
> I call you lost but the truth is  
> I don't know my own way anymore  
> I see the ones with ambition won  
> And it's like losing a hundred wars
> 
> But I'm too selfish and mean  
> To give up on the dream  
> But what is the dream  
> You tell me  
> You tell me
> 
> Into disappearing season my time has come  
> I'm still looking for a reason to wake up enough”
> 
> \- Azure Ray, “Last Summer in Omaha”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional chapter warnings: extreme self harm, mild blood, mentions of extreme sexual situations, angst, hurt/no comfort, suicide mentions

The world spun like a kaleidoscope with no sense of direction. Up. Down. Left. Right.

_Nothing was right anymore._

Qrow awoke to the vicious peck of a crow on his skull, the creature's attempt to move the man for access to more of the putrid smell wafting from him.

Vomit coated the balcony floor, the man's naked body, his face... nothing lay unsoiled.

Vomit and something else.

...lots of things else.

So he'd had a good night?

As good as things could go.

_When nothing was right anymore._

The crow cawed at the man when he swatted the creature away and his stomach lurched again. Once he was done, the bird chirped in gratitude.

"Asshole," he said hoarsely, pushing himself to a sitting position using the balcony fence as support. 

He winced. His backside was tender. He couldn't remember what had happened to it, nor did he care.

Qrow rubbed his eyes, blinking, willing sight to return. Focus coming in clearer, he wiped his eyes to erase the images from his sight. 

He saw exactly what he'd expected: countless empty booze bottles, vomit, blood, and gods know what other secretions he stank of. 

Every orifice ached. _Every. One._

He sat motionless for what seemed like forever, the high sun burning tender skin in places that rarely saw light... tender skin that was hurting a hellova lot more than just a sunburn.

An eye peered open to spot missing strips of skin on his knee, chest, thigh, and groin, puss oozing from the open wounds.

Had he been waxed?

The paper stuck to his ass cheek said yes.

Qrow growled, wiping the viscous yellow and red slime from thigh, cursing loudly when sand and small broken glass fragments from his hand dug in.

Another glance down revealed claw marks in his side. Grimm claw marks. More scars to blend with the rest from his sexual escapades... _no, missions...no wait... whatever._

The pit in his stomach, hollow and vast, told him his aura was completely depleted. 

He reached for his disgarded leather-wrapped flask on the balcony floor, feeling the emptiness of it before he even brought it to his lips. Always empty, these days.

Not that it mattered.

_Nothing was right anymore._

Qrow had tried to lose himself in to anything, and everything, to forget _him._

He tried the legal - preferred the illegal – and settled on drunk. Always drunk.

That way he could forget. Forget the boredom from _fun._ Forget the pain from...

...

Conventional was never Qrow's style anyway. One-night stands weren't enough. Multiples weren't enough. Orgies, well... they got freaky by the time the norm wasn't enough for Qrow. 

Or so he guessed. So the barmaids told him.

 _"Twisted,"_ they'd called him with a malicious smirk. 

_"Fucked up,"_ they whispered as they flocked to him.

Twisted and fucked up definitely described some of the shit he woke up to. Leather and latex, food and feet, tubes and tools, pumps and pills, needles and knives...

_You get the idea._

For the amount of times he had woken up with shit shoved in places it didn't belong - in other bodies and his... 

One time he found a repurposed blender strapped to a rocking horse with a gourd stuck on the blade, and a balloon pump full with-

Well... he found out gourds were oddly useful - fittin' a lot in and fittin' 'em in a lot. Couldn't remember which end he was on. Couldn't remember if they found all the balloon bits. Couldn't remember how many places he had to dig hardened candle wax outta. But that was the point.

He was good at forgetting things by now.

He never knew who he met. He never knew what he did. He just did it.

They loved it.

And he didn't care - as long as it was a distraction.

As long as he could lose himself.

‘Cause nothing was right anymore.

...

And so he sat.

When his backside protested under weight too great, he braced to stand.

A chain stopped his efforts. A chain to...?

Inside.

Qrow was drunk, chained at the ankle, partially skinned alive, covered in some kinky ass shit, in some shitty ass motel in some shitty ass desert. 

Probably Vacuo based on the sunburn.

Escaping this dump might be as hard as the time he woke up wearing ball gag and bell collar hogtied and dangling from fishhooks sunk in his back braced in the ceiling. Some sap was vacuum sealed to the floor beneath Qrow breathing through straws shoved up his nose ‘cause a trumpet full of dry semen was stuck in his mouth. Her mouth? Its mouth. Hard to tell sometimes with opaque latex.

Qrow guessed the fluid was his from the red paint on the wall ordering them to "MAKE MUSIC UNTIL YOUR AIM IMPROVES."

Right. He had a kazoo up his ass that morning.

Maybe this will be easier.

...

So why the fuck was he chained now?

Another squinted eye scanned the scene: claw marks gouged the wooden railing of the fence. _Whatever._

Red eyes refocused, the damaged man taking in more of his surroundings: broken glass and... a fire bellow?

Judging by the location and state of the object in question, that explained why his ass felt like he was sitting on the world's largest fucking cactus after being skinned alive. 

Speaking of which - 

Qrow ripped off the remaining wax paper with nothing more than a grunt of disapproval staring at the layers of skin he'd just freed from his body.

So he'd upgraded from alcoholic funnels?

A noise from indoors caught Qrow's attention, the man leaning his weight on the wall, as if it were the only reason he could stand.

He wasn't wrong.

Leaning his head inside the building, he caught sight of... of what?

Grimm replica outfits lay in pieces on the floor, the fur shredded by Qrow's scythe buried in the neck of the beast.

To the right, another Grimm suit - this one still partially filled with a passed-out man wearing a double strapped... forget it. 

The clawed mitts were covered in fake blood and... 

Real blood. Probably Qrow's. And he didn't care what else.

He stumbled searching for the source of his tether -

A squeal from the corner of the room triggered Qrow's glare, the man growling at the latest inconvenience. 

A young woman whimpered in the corner, her hair, face, and neck drenched in what looked and smelled like red corn syrup, cowering from Qrow.

"I-I-I thought y-you left."

Qrow's only response was a deepening glare.

"Y-you were... I-I mean... Di-did y-you...?"

"Get the fuck out," Qrow ordered. He didn't have time for some crying sniveling shit too pampered to deal with life.

The thing gasped and cowered deeper into the corner.

Qrow leaned over her, pushing her deeper down. 

"Maybe you didn' hear me. Get. Out. Now. Unless you wanna end up like that," he jabbed his thumb at the fallen Grimm suit, his cold order sending visible shivers down the girl as she squealed, fleeing from the room.

Qrow dropped his hand from the wall barely noticing the bloody print left in his wake. 

Glass shards bit into his torn flesh.

What a bitch.

Movement in his peripheral stole Qrow's attention. A man stood watching him - eyes sunken too far in his skull, dark circles deepening his scowl, wiry overgrown beard masking his mouth, his gaunt beaten form resembling a tortured emaciated prisoner Qrow had seen in Atlas once on a mission.

Maybe it was the same guy? 

Qrow was pretty sure he could take him.

Probably.

The guy had obviously seen some shit.

...maybe take him.

"You too, get the fu - " Qrow fell silent, his reflection cursing him to leave.

Hell, a pack of Beowolves looked more attractive and less threatening than him.

...

Qrow was honestly surprised anyone dared look at him, let alone fuck him, or whatever it was he did when he woke up like this.

He looked like he'd clawed his way out of a compost grinder only to land in tar.

Never underestimate the desperation of people with unconventional kinks.

"You tried to jump," a voice said, drifting from his blind spot. 

Qrow turned to the source: a tall, voluptuous black-haired woman, her tight leather vest heaving her bosom to precarious placements, her snug black cargos making it obvious she enjoyed going commando. She gestured to Qrow's chained ankle.

Qrow recognized her, but couldn't for the life of him remember from where. Where didn't matter, she just always appeared. Usually on the rough nights. Sometimes she'd bring him booze the next day. Sometimes she would trick him with water.

Sometimes she'd surprise him with a whip. 

He got the sense she liked fucking with him just to watch him get pissed off. 

But she didn't want him dead.

Probably just ‘cause she found him amusing. 

"From the balcony. Twice. First, said you were going to check on a mysterious 'him'," she continued, pausing for dramatic effect. "The second ‘cause you couldn't. You almost died. The Grimm furries caught you, but you fought back. Then they chained you up and the fun started. For us anyway. How'd it feel when they - "

"Stop. I don't want to know."

"Fine. But if you ask me - "

"I didn't."

"You need to chip that death wish off your shoulder before it's too late. I'm sick of cleaning up your shit."

"Then stop."

"Then die."

Qrow laughed bitterly. "Honey, I tried. Tried poison, the alcohol killed it. Tried hanging, the fucking beam broke. Stood in front of a train, it fucking derailed. Walked into a Grimm nest - my fucking ex saved me. Hell I even picked a fight with murderers without fighting back. A goddamn tree fell on 'em in the woods."

"Fate's got bigger plans for you."

"Fate's a cocksucking bitch that wants to keep me alive so I can suffer more." 

Sharp eyes turned daggers aiming to slice at anything and everything before him. Silence grew, his voice finally breaking it in sinister revelation. "It cursed me the day I was born and never took a vacation day. It's not going anywhere."

She was unfazed. Unsurprising. She was always found toying with the rot at the bottom of humanity's barrel. 

She was exactly like Qrow - moving in the darkest, most dangerous alleys at night, apathetic to the plights of others, sadistically preying on whatever crossed their paths. They were the predators there, not the scum that fed their cravings.

"You haven't eaten in days," she said picking up the chain from the ground and guiding Qrow - easily despite his refusal - to the tattered table. "Sit," she ordered, not waiting for the man to comply, instead forcing him down with a heavy hand at his shoulder.

Qrow barely winced as his ass collided with the hard wood, the young man unamused by her new game of _pet._

"It looked like I was full of something," he said sarcastically, wiping a hand down his sticky backside, annoyed she wasn't intimidated by his pathetic state.

"Lots of things. But I meant food," she said less than amused.

"Mighta been."

"Funny. Here," she dropped a plate of eggs, bacon, biscuits and gravy in front of him.

"Is it poisoned?" he asked, his stomach already roaring to life.

"If I say yes, will you eat it?"

Another bitter laugh.

"Eat it, or I'm not taking the chain off."

Confinement. She must have learned his weakness like O -

"Fine, but you better give me some booze with it." But Qrow he would eat if only to focus on food and not anything to do with _him._

Qrow shivered. From the pain and trauma he'd put his body through, he told himself.

Not because of _him._

Fuck. Just the thought -

Qrow shivered again.

"Cold?" she asked unsympathetically.

"Fuck off an’ bring me booze."

She gently placed her boot's metal stiletto heal onto the top of his foot, then eased in until she drew blood.

Qrow swallowed nothing in his dry mouth.

"You know better than to address me that way," she said, tracing his jaw with delicate fingers despite the pain she was inflicting elsewhere.

Qrow's stomach turned. Like hell he'd say _'Yes, Mistress'_ as she had trained so many others to do.

Then again, he theorized that was why she liked him.

"Just give me the damn booze," he said, lightening his tone to a mere displeasure by her presence.

"That's better," she said, releasing him and disappearing. 

Qrow watched the blood struggle to ooze to the floor - the substance too thick to flow as it should. 

The bitch was probably going to bring him water.

She returned with a beer. Close enough.

Qrow downed it before touching the food, the woman allowing Qrow to eat slowly in silence.

He truly was pathetic like this. 

And he was far, far too much in his head preoccupied with _him._

"She was crying because you demanded she take her clothes off and burn them." She broke the silence abruptly, dragging the man from his thoughts.

"So?" he said around a mouth full of food.

"And you said you were going to scalp her if she didn't dye her hair."

 _What the fuck?_

Qrow was surprised... unsurprised? Unexpectedly expecting? - of his new violence. Normally he didn't bother threatening anyone he didn't think deserved it, reserving his sadism for those either in need of it or asking for it. 

Kept him outta jail. 

Mostly.

But the mouse before seemed both ignorant and innocent. Nothing he would bother spending his time with anymore.

Not out of sympathy.

Out of boredom.

She grinned maliciously at the memory, pulling out a cigar, purposefully taking her time running the scent beneath her nose, lighting and inhaling it. "You must really hate green clothes and silver hair."

The metal spoon clattered to the floor, a murderous intent reflected in the man's eyes.

The woman laughed. "You looked like you couldn't tell whether you wanted to use her scalp to jerk off or set it all on fire still attached. And here I thought I was kinky..." she said, blowing smoke in Qrow's direction.

He didn't bother turning away, his glare too intense to break.

"I have a message for you," she leaned in abruptly changing the topic, always intent on confusing Qrow. 

She dropped her voice to a whisper despite them being the only two conscious in the room. "A guy named Taiyang said he needs to talk to you. He said if he still means anything to you, you'll do it fast. Said you'd know where to find him."

So the team was in trouble...

...did he still care?

...

Fuck. Fine. He needed another distraction anyway. He wouldn't be right for another job for a week minimum.

"Fine," he said. He wanted to stand and leave, but knew he lacked the strength, balance, and ability until she released him.

And so he remained, knowing she would not release him until he physically couldn't eat anymore.

And so she did, adding a bottle of water atop his burden.

"Can't have my favorite cohort die unless I'm the one to murder him..." she had said.

Qrow debated headbutting her hard enough to break her nose.

But she released him instead, always seeming to know her limits with him.

"You smell. Shower before you go," she ordered, before leaving.

Qrow doubted she would check if he did. Qrow knew this would be the last he saw of her. Today anyway. She always popped up to torment him... to help him... to give him what he wanted, what he needed, eventually.

And so Qrow showered.

***

Closing the mostly broken door to the rundown piece of shit motel they had met in, the woman brushed her thick locks from her eye, the hair shimmering and disintegrating as she did so.

Calico Read straightened her pirate shirt, readjusting her weapons for easy access.

She knew one thing for certain: if her ex refused to snap out of this pathetic state on his own, she was going to put him out of his misery.

For both their sakes.

She just hoped Ozpin didn't ask her for an update. His updates through Qrow's brief employers were enough, and thankfully the headmaster was never particularly close with Calico. To his knowledge, anyways.

But if he knew the truth, she was certain it would kill him... and Qrow... and she couldn't allow that to happen.

Either these two fucking morons would move on or...

Or their time was now limited.

***

Graduation and all its warm promises burned Team STRQ beyond Qrow Branwen.

Taiyang Xiao Long spent his time after Beacon in elated productivity; his life had instantly become something beyond merely him, extending to wife, child, friends – all those precious parts of his heart that he intended to keep with him.

He purchased a humble house outside of Patch, white picket fence, flower and vegetable gardens, safe and sunny and warm for playing children, enough room to comfortably grant Summer a guest room when she came over to babysit, or for Qrow when he visited his nieces and nephews and inevitably had to sleep off the whiskey Tai would offer.

A family.

The reality of things, however –

The house robbed Taiyang of everything he made, taking every lien of the odd Huntsman postings as they came, using his irregular downtime to scour teaching listings, determined to find a permanent position doing what he loved most, and hoping to do so near home.

He had no wife.

Raven dismissed discussions of marriage, telling him no, wait until after the baby comes, after everything settles down.

The baby came. They named her Yang, because she had her father’s bright gold hair.

Raven left.

She was gone without warning; he woke to an empty bed and found the note on the kitchen counter. Summer fed Yang and said nothing, but her downcast eyes told him she already knew.

 _Don’t come after me,_ it said.

He turned it over but of course that was all. 

He sat down at the table and stared at it, the grief slow in arriving, and he thought about how stupid he had to have been not to have seen this coming.

No wife, one motherless child, and his friends –

Summer stayed on in Patch, working for Professor Ozpin in a capacity she never really mentioned, taking care of Yang while Tai was working to support the house that would not see the family he had planned for. And Qrow –

Qrow had been gone since graduation. He disappeared immediately following the ceremony and Tai had only seen him a handful of times, completely drunk and somehow tortured, like leaving Beacon had destroyed him in a way no one else could understand.

Summer quietly told him to leave it be, and so Tai did, too wrapped up in the birth of his daughter and their subsequent abandonment to deal with more than he had before him.

But months passed. He found an opening at Signal Academy. Summer moved in permanently and the act was beyond mercy; without words, Yang had become _their_ daughter, Taiyang’s fractured house becoming, with Summer Rose, something almost whole.

Almost.

Qrow remained absent, and Taiyang felt it intensely every time he looked at the niece Qrow hadn’t met.

His previous attempts to contact Qrow resulted in nothing more than unanswered voicemails. Against Summer’s advice, Tai reached out to the only other person who might have an idea of Qrow’s whereabouts.

Professor Ozpin picked up on the second ring.

“Hello, Mr. Xiao Long,” he said, in that soft, controlled tone. “Or should I say, Professor Xiao Long.”

Of course Ozpin had heard the news; Signal hadn’t made the official announcement, but Taiyang knew better than to be surprised. 

“I need to ask you something, Professor,” Tai blurted.

“I’m happy to help however I can.”

“I need to know if you know where Qrow is. Or how I can contact him.”

Silence met this request, carrying on for so long that Taiyang pulled the scroll from his ear to check the connection.

“Professor?”

“I have not heard from Mr. Branwen since his graduation,” Ozpin said finally, his voice different now. Distant, stiff. “But I know someone else who has. She may be able to help you better than I.” 

The line cut abruptly, and Tai looked down at his scroll as it pinged with a contact.

_Calico Read._

Tai thought about what this meant but shook it from his head. His only priority was finding Qrow and making sure he was safe.

The explanations would follow that.

Calico was wary when he called. Yes, she knew where he was. Yes, she was with him. No, he hadn’t changed his scroll contact. No, she didn’t know if Qrow was listening to his voicemails. Yes, she could ask him to check.

Tai waited a day before calling Qrow again. He dialed without expectations, feeling that this was his last attempt; if Qrow didn’t want to be found, Tai didn’t have a chance of it.

“What?”

The graveled demand shocked Tai into silence.

_He picked up._

An annoyed sigh followed. “I’m hanging up.”

“Don’t,” Tai blurted. “Please, Qrow.”

“Then talk.” The words carried a careless slur.

“Sorry, I just…didn’t think you’d pick up.”

“Yeah, well. Someone told me maybe I should, and here we are.”

But everything Tai wanted to say was gone now, scared off at the very real voice on the other line, and how much he had missed it. His heart raced.

_Don’t fuck this up. Don’t scare him off._

“Come to my party.”

Qrow scoffed. “Party. Right.”

Tai winced. “It’s a celebration. It’d mean a lot if you were there.”

“Celebration, huh. Raven decide to stick around?”

The words were a gut-punch.

“That’s not funny.”

Qrow made an impatient noise. “I know. Fuck, Sorry, just – whatever. Just talk.”

“I got a job. Teaching at Signal. They’re throwing me a welcome party. We wanted you to come.”

“We?”

“Me and Summer. And…Yang.”

Silence, and Tai panicked, wondering if the name of the niece he hadn’t met scared him off –

“Yang, huh. Bit full of yourself, naming her after you.”

“You should meet her.”

“I dunno if you want that.”

“Damn it, Qrow, what happened to you?”

“I pulled my head outta my ass and got back to reality,” he snapped. “And she’s a bitch.”

“But – ”

“But nothing. I don’t owe anything to anyone.”

“You can’t just keep doing this!” Tai said, anger seeping in, his hand clenching the scroll.

“The hell I can’t. You gonna stop me? Ride in on a white horse and save the day – ”

“You know I can’t. I have my own shit to take care of.”

“Then don’t lecture me on my life.”

“Then don’t come to your niece’s first birthday party either.”

Qrow fell silent.

There was something there, a power Tai had when he mentioned Yang.

_Come on, Qrow, you can’t convince me that you don’t care._

“Look,” he said, softening his tone. “Raven left. You left. It’s just me and Summer now, and the baby. Convince me that you aren’t the same as her. Come home.”

A pause, and then cursing, incoherent and violent, muffed as though Qrow had put the scroll down.

Tai waited for him to stop, afraid to breathe.

“Yang,” Qrow said at last. “Her name is Yang?”

“Yang Xiao Long.”

Qrow made a sound that was almost a laugh. “It’s…not terrible.”

“Thanks.”

“When’s the party?”

“I’ll send you the information. Will you come?”

“I…gotta think about it.”

“I hope you do. We both do.”

“…I’m in pretty rough shape, Tai.”

“I don’t care. Just come home.”

The line went dead then and Tai sighed, relieved. Qrow was never one for goodbyes or emotions beyond anger. Hanging up confirmed that he felt something beyond that.

Tai had gotten through to him.

He told Summer – and himself – that that much was enough for now, that he said what he felt he had to, and he knew Qrow well enough to know Qrow would lie awake on his words, trying to find himself again under the ocean of alcohol and whatever had broken inside him.

Even so, Taiyang made a noise of unrestrained emotion when he spied Qrow slink into Signal Academy’s main auditorium, creeping over the furthest corner of the room, hands shoved firmly into his pockets, head down but eyes up, alert and cautious.

He moved without thinking, Yang making plaintive noises as he shifted her in his arms, looking alarmed when he brushed through the crowd. His steps became longer as he maneuvered, until he was nearly running, bursting out of the crowd to corner his brother-in-law.

Almost brother-in-law.

Tai never thought the legal distinction mattered anyway.

Qrow’s eyes grew when he found himself blockaded in, darting to either side as though considering his best escape routes. 

“I can’t believe you made it,” Tai said, panting lightly, his entire face a grin. “You look…well, kinda like a Nevermore swallowed you and regurgitated you again for its young.”

Qrow managed a fraction of a smirk, the expression faltering as he ran a self-conscious hand through too-long hair, the new silver strands catching the light. He hadn’t lied to Tai: he was in rough shape, too thin, scruffy and pale.

But he was here.

“Must be a good day,” Qrow murmured. Even his voice sounded rough, gravely beyond what it once was, deep and hoarse and used. 

“Sober?” Tai asked.

Asking a lot, he knew, but he’d take _less than drunk_ for now.

“Ish,” Qrow said, a nervous hand running along the almost-beard he sported. “Is, uh, that the kid? I mean, she’s practically a tiny you, the poor bastard.”

Tai flinched.

“Sorry,” Qrow said quickly. “I didn’t mean it like – sorry.”

“Just…don’t breathe on her,” Tai said, recovering quickly. 

Qrow’s smirk was a little stronger now, held a little longer, offering Tai a faux salute almost proper, tinged with whiskey sloppiness. 

“Oh, gods, Qrow!”

Summer came out of nowhere, a rush of red petals past Tai and Yang, colliding with Qrow in a tangle of arms and cloak fabric. Qrow froze, tense and stiff, shooting Tai a distressed glance. 

“We’ve been so worried about you!” Summer said into his shoulder, and Qrow’s expression eased, his hands slowly coming to rest on her back.

 _Summer could melt the coldest heart on the planet._

It wasn’t the family Taiyang had planned, but it was something.

“Hey, I’m okay, short stack,” he muttered.

Summer pulled away and gave him a hard look, wrinkling her nose.

“You smell like a liquor store.”

“See? Same as always.”

“You haven’t met the baby!” Summer exclaimed, and in an instant, Tai felt Yang plucked from his arms.

“Honey – ”

Qrow’s head shot up, raising an eyebrow as he struggled with the baby. “So that’s finally a thing, huh?”

“What d’you mean, _finally?”_

Summer ignored his indignant tone, still cooing over Yang while Qrow looked distinctly uncomfortable with the wriggling baby in his arms. 

“Just that – ow, she’s got my hair – Summer had a thing for you - _ow,_ Summer – ”

“We can talk about that later,” Summer said, her face pink now, avoiding the incredulous expression Tai offered. “For now, it’s enough that you’re back.”

“Yeah,” Qrow said, catching Yang’s plump fist as she tried to swing at his face. He gently pried the fist open, running a thumb over her fingers. Yang laughed, her legs wriggling.

“Yeah,” he said again, more quietly, and Tai could hear the smile in his voice.

***

Qrow’s reappearance after more than a year made for an almost perfect evening.

Of course, Summer couldn’t know if he would stay or disappear anew, if the next time he was gone for two years, five, forever –

But she had learned to take the blessings as they came, no matter the expiration dates. 

Tonight was a blessing.

To some, at least.

Summer paused at the table with the punch bowl, wondering if the neon red liquid was enough actual juice to give a baby, or if Yang would only end up dyeing her blonde hair bright pink by spilling it everywhere.

“I think,” came a quiet voice beside her, “that it’s the same mystery concoction served at Beacon events.”

Professor Ozpin smiled down at her, a paper cup in his own hand, his lips already the same shade of red.

“Oh, sir!” Summer squeaked. “I didn’t think you would – I mean, I’m so glad you could make it.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Ozpin said evenly, pouring her a drink. “It’s not every day that a former student becomes a professor.”

“It will mean a lot to Tai,” she said, forcing her eyes to remain on the professor, and not toward the one person she was certain Ozpin didn’t want to see.

“How have you been, sir? I heard that Professor Agrios retired recently.”

“A loss that I cannot ever truly replace,” Ozpin said. “We keep in contact, as friends. In the meantime, I have her very reliable replacement.” He motioned with his cup to a slim blonde woman some distance off, speaking to the Headmaster of Signal.

Summer chewed her lip.

His deflections remained as polite as ever, but she had come to recognize when he didn’t want to answer something, when he chose to smoothly offer a new subject.

He didn’t want to answer the simple question of how he was doing.

Unlike Qrow, Summer witnessed firsthand the effects of their separation. She felt the bleakness of Ozpin’s empty office when she returned from missions, the ever-empty coffee pots and coffee mugs, the loosening of clothing, the distance in his manner, the closing off of every part of him.

Everything that he once shared with her, with her team, became secret again, a quiet act of violence.

Even now, more than a year later, he bore blue circles under his eyes, only partially hidden by the tinted glasses.

She let out a quiet breath into her cup, bracing herself for her next words. “I think I should tell you that Qrow is here.”

He stiffened instantly, his face blank.

She felt the conflict the information caused, the swell of something beneath the surface.

Without a word, Ozpin turned to leave.

“Wait,” she said, catching his arm, feeling him pull away from the touch. He met her eyes and she saw the panic in them, releasing him in surprise. 

“He isn’t here for you,” she said.

Ozpin remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

“I don’t know what happened between you two,” she said quietly. “Not exactly.”

“It was my fault,” Ozpin interjected.

Summer blinked in surprise. 

“I…miscalculated,” the headmaster continued softly. “Myself, the situation…and especially Qrow.”

An explanation without explaining anything. It was how Ozpin was.

“Have you talked to him since…”

“No,” Ozpin said, his voice firm.

“Why not tell him what you told me?”

“He doesn’t want to hear it. I’m quite certain he never wants to see me again.”

“With respect, sir…if you misjudged him once, are you sure you aren’t still?”

Ozpin regarded his paper cup with a quiet, calm expression of misery. 

“How is he?” he asked instead.

“Qrow?” Summer sighed. “He’s…well. Just talk to him, sir. Please. For both your sakes.”

Ozpin’s eyes met hers and held them, and then he gave a tiny nod, so small that she wasn’t certain she had seen it at all. 

She gave his arm a gentle touch, of comfort, of understanding, of cautious distance.

“He’s more forgiving than you think,” she said, and gave him one last smile before withdrawing back to her family. “Just give him the chance to show it.”

***

Professor Ozpin regarded Summer’s retreating form with the ghost of a smile on his lips.

How small, how uncertain, how young she had been those years ago, standing on the cold cliffs overlooking Emerald Forest. And now –

He sighed and refilled his cup, swallowing half the sugary drink without thought.

_Qrow is here._

If that was true, then Ozpin shouldn’t be.

It was as simple as an illegal move in chess; Ozpin’s moves had been restricted, and now there were too many places that belonged to Qrow and Qrow alone. 

_Just talk to him._

Was it that easy?

No.

Simple. Not easy.

Ozpin knew that distinction too well. 

What would he say? What _could_ he say?

_I made a mistake. I’m sorry._

Ozpin stared at his punch, wondering if those words were possible.

_Come home._

His throat closed and he tipped the cup up again.

_Would he even want to hear it?_

Summer called Qrow forgiving; Ozpin wasn’t certain he could do the same.

_Because he wouldn’t forgive you, or because you think you don’t deserve it?_

He dismissed the voice like smoke in his ears. 

Of course he didn't deserve it. He was in the business of ruining lives.

Would it hurt to see him again?

Would it hurt less than not seeing him?

Ozpin refilled the cup again; he didn’t want the too-sweet punch but he didn’t know what else to do with himself, and so he poured, and turned, and tried not to look into the crowd for his –

Former student?

Former friend?

No.

_Almost lover._

And yet his eyes moved on their own, unable to resist. One glance, one look to remind Ozpin what he looked like –

He was in the far corner, talking to Taiyang and Summer, a baby with wild blonde hair in his arms.

Objectively, Qrow didn’t look healthy. He was too thin, too scruffy, too unkempt, his skin pale, his eyes sunken in. 

Ozpin didn’t notice any of it.

All he saw was the smile on Qrow’s face.

The entire world, for a moment, froze in place, halted by the beauty of one man’s smile.

_So he still smiles._

_Of course he does. Do you think you alone held hostage his happiness?_

_No. No, I had hoped –_

_You had hoped you did._

_I don’t know! I don’t –_

“Do you not have a need for me anymore,” a cold voice said into his ear, “or did you come to watch his suffering firsthand?” 

The argument shattered, Ozpin looking into unfamiliar eyes, trying to recall where he was, when he was, and the face of the person who seemed to know him.

“I…I beg your pardon?” he said, hearing the hoarse note in his voice.

The woman rolled her eyes – blue, cold like steel. She tossed her head at him, moving her face very close to his and offering a wink.

He caught the gold glint in her left eye immediately.

“Calico.”

“Professor,” she said sarcastically, and withdrew to his side.

He studied her new form, taller and heavier, hair long and mousey brown. “I had my suspicions about your Semblance.”

“But you couldn’t prove it.”

“I never attempted to.”

She snorted. “So, you’re both here.”

“You didn’t warn me he would be here.”

“You didn’t warn me you would be here. Curious you want such information on him, yet provide such little of yourself, Headmaster. Should I employ a scheduling book for your secrets? Although, I do hope Glynda isn’t the jealous type handing over such power…”

Ozpin regarded his cup again. Of course she was right; Ozpin offered her nothing in return for her information. He wondered why she gave him anything at all, unless she meant to torment him. After all, it was Calico Read who had come to him, appearing in his elevator after the breakup – if Ozpin had the right to call it that – demanding to know what he had done to Qrow, and what he intended to do to fix it.

“Does he know I’m here?” he asked, ignoring her goading. 

“Would he be smiling if he did?”

_The obvious answer._

She meant to hurt and she did, but Ozpin took the wound without comment, his eyes drifting back to observe Qrow’s smile again, to keep the image and hold it against his heart.

“…do you think he would speak to me?”

Not that Ozpin knew what to say. Thousands of years alive, and he still found moments where his uselessness could not be cured.

Always in moments where it mattered.

“You need to sort this, and I give no fucks whether either of you want to speak or not. My patience with witnessing you both waste away pining after each other is waning. Fix it, Ozpin. If you need me to chain him down to do it, I will. But time is running out.”

Ozpin listened as he watched Qrow shift the baby in his arms, her chubby hands pulling at his lapels. 

_It’s that serious, then._

Of course. Qrow didn’t love in halves.

Troubling and rewarding simultaneously, to think that Ozpin meant so much to Qrow. And yet above all, drowning him – guilt.

“I want to thank you for everything you’ve done,” Ozpin said. “For…watching over him when I couldn’t. If there is ever anything I can do in return…”

The unfamiliar features softened; Calico sighed. “Don’t reject him again.”

But the demand that Ozpin not refuse him again implied Qrow would renew the vows he made in headmaster’s office, and the fear of hearing that, of not hearing that, was too much to think about just yet. 

For now, just hearing Qrow’s voice again would be privilege enough.

He tore his eyes away from Qrow’s face to find himself alone.

When he looked up again, Qrow’s eyes were locked on him, a red piercing Ozpin felt like a bullet, his body stiffening like in shock.

And yet a moment later, he fought the overwhelming urge to flee.

Qrow’s face was blank now, his eyes flickering over Ozpin with the care of one judging danger, as though Ozpin could possibly present himself as some manner of predator.

_Perhaps I am, in a way._

In any case, Qrow had no reason now to consider Ozpin anything else.

Ozpin held the gaze, feeling the paper cup in his hand collapse with the strain of it, until the trickle over his fingers forced him to break it, shaking punch from his hand and cursing himself.

He tossed the broken cup into the trash and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, turning away, before Qrow’s surprise could give way to what he really thought of Ozpin now. He took in long breaths of the evening air, leaning against the building to atone for the sudden weakness in his legs. 

He fumbled for his scroll with still-panicked hands, finding that familiar number, so long unused, to write something, anything, while he still had the nerve –

“If you can ever find it in yourself to speak to me again, this time I promise to listen.”

It was sentimental, overdramatic stuff and yet Ozpin pushed the _send_ button before he could edit it, or rewrite it, or delete it altogether.

 _Maybe,_ he thought, as his heart pounded simply from meeting Qrow’s eyes, _maybe a bit of raw honesty is what is needed._


	3. In which Ozpin and Qrow are reunited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh damn, oh damn, oh damn  
> I'm so perplexed  
> With just one breath, I'm locked in  
> Oh damn, oh damn, oh damn  
> I'm so perplexed  
> On that, it's almost shocking  
> I know, I know you know you're scared  
> Your heart, your mind, your soul, your body  
> They won't, they won't, they won't be careful  
> But I guess that you don't know me
> 
> 'Cause if I want you, and I want you, babe  
> Ain't going backwards, won't ask for space  
> 'Cause space is just a word made up by someone who's afraid to get too
> 
> Close, oh  
> Oh, so close, oh  
> I want you close, ooh"
> 
> \- Nick Jonas & Tove Lo, "Close"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that the tags have been updated for this and subsequent chapters.

“You don’t have to go.”

Ozpin’s eyes flickered to her from the mirror, pale hands buttoning his vest, a wry smile appearing on his reflection’s face. 

“We both know that’s not an option.”

Ferra Agrios sighed, tipping her mug to empty the last of the chamomile, balancing it on one knee. 

“No, I suppose you’re right.” She eyed him as he continued to dress, feeling the resignation in his movements, the heaviness of the words he didn’t say aloud. “Drink your tea.”

Another tug of his lips, almost like old times, and he reached for his mug.

“Yes, mother,” he said, his tone nearly hitting playful.

“I haven’t missed _that,”_ Ferra muttered, “but I can’t say I haven’t earned that title in some way. You look better than last time I visited. Are you eating?”

“When I can,” Ozpin said, slipping his jacket on. “Glynda has taken to sending me rather…aggressive reminders.”

“Good girl,” Ferra said. She watched Ozpin turn around, motioning vaguely at the suit he always wore, as if he expected to look different.

“Well?” he asked.

_The poor thing._

The mere suggestion that Qrow Branwen might appear tonight, and Ozpin was undone, anxious pacing calmed by tea, nervous fidgeting soothed by an exaggerated event of dressing in something Branwen had seen in him every day while he attended Beacon.

_A trial of motherhood,_ she thought wryly, watching a child work through something unrequited. 

Well – _unrequited_ was a strong word, and all prior evidence suggested that Branwen’s schoolboy crush had long ago evolved into something deep and desperate, enough to break them both. 

“You look fine,” she said softly. She patted the spot on the bed beside her and he sat, letting out a long breath, deflating gently against her. 

“Have you ever once brushed your hair?” she chided, reaching up to smooth the unruly silver locks.

“I think you tried once when I was a child,” he murmured, his lips stuck in a small smile that she knew belied his nerves. “But I have forgotten every day since then.” He settled his head against her shoulder and her hand stroked his hair, the action one of comfort alone now.

She watched his eyes close, feeling the significance of that, of his allowing her to touch him in a way she hadn’t in twenty years, before his voice had cast off the higher tones of childhood. She felt his loneliness like a weight, and she knew he was tired of carrying it.

“It will work out,” she said. “Somehow.”

Ozpin hummed quietly. “You have greater faith in us than I.”

“You can’t tell me that everything you two built together over the years can be destroyed that easily.”

“I don’t know if he’ll want to hear my apologies.”

“He will.”

“Perhaps,” Ozpin said, “after he hits me.”

Ferra’s hand paused. “Do you expect him to?”

“You know his temper as well as I do. He’s held onto this for two years. And it isn’t as though I wouldn’t deserve – ”

“Don’t you dare say that.”

Ozpin’s eyes opened, meeting hers in surprise. 

“You made a mistake,” she said. “A very silly, stupid mistake.”

Ozpin managed a quiet laugh.

“But your heart was in the right place. And I think he knows that, even after all this time.”

“At this point,” Ozpin said, “I only want whatever will happen to happen.”

“Then you should go,” Ferra said gently. “Go see him, and please work this out.”

Ozpin rose, smoothing his jacket. “Are you certain you won’t come?”

Ferra laughed. “Oh, no, my time for Beacon social obligations ended the moment I retired. And alumni reunions always bored me to tears specifically. Besides, I don’t want to be the third wheel. Just call me to let me know how it goes. In the morning, if it goes well.”

Ozpin made a surprised noise, his cheeks going pink. 

“Really, Ferra,” he huffed.

“Don’t _really, Ferra_ me, young man. I’ll enjoy saying ‘I told you so’ on this matter.”

Ozpin merely shook his head, refraining from confirming or denying the possibility.

“Now, down you go. Go find your Prince Charming. Or whatever the hell Branwen is.”

Ozpin chuckled softly. “You’ll see yourself out?”

“Yes. Go.”

He hesitated in the bedroom for so long that she huffed, pulling him into a brief hug. 

“There,” she said. “Go.”

“Thank you, Ferra,” he said. “Invaluable as always.”

She let him go without another word; two years of reassurances and he didn’t need more. He needed Qrow Branwen, and nothing else could fill that hole in his life.

***

Ozpin was not looking forward to this reunion.

Granted, he didn't love reunions any more than Ferra did, although the reasons were different; the satisfaction of seeing his former students' successes was ultimately dulled by the exhausting, extended evening of polite welcome-back's and how-nice-to-see-you-again's when he could only vaguely recall their names and faces.

And then there were the name cards that remained unclaimed by alumni no longer left to claim them.

But the social exhaustion, the guilt from sending children trained into adulthood to their deaths, all of it –

Everything eclipsed by one name card tonight.

What was it about Qrow Branwen that made Ozpin doubt absolutely everything? 

It had been two years since they had spoken at all, six months since they met each other’s eyes across a room. Two long years for the bitterness to fade, for absence to soften the angst of that evening, for Ozpin to conclude he had made a mistake.

Six months since a pleading text message went unanswered.

Ozpin had seized upon the RSVPs of this year's reunion, and when his eyes halted on Qrow's name, he sat back, in some incomprehensible mixture of anxiety, relief, exhilaration. He made a phone call to his former deputy headmistress immediately.

This, he knew, was a response at last.

This was Qrow telling Ozpin he wanted to talk.

Ozpin closed his eyes in the elevator, feeling vaguely sick.

"Professor.”

Glynda stood in front of the elevator, regarding him with a slightly cocked head.

“Apologies, Glynda, I must have been somewhere else.” 

"It’s all right, sir. I was told to fetch you."

"And here I am," he said with an easy, false smile. “Am I to understand that my faculty has doubts about my attending tonight?”

"No, sir,” she said, the courtesy automatic before she paused with a tiny sigh. “Well, yes, sir. Some of the other professors don't think you would come down if you're not...supervised."

Ozpin chuckled, surprised at his own sincerity. "Very well, I'll enter with you then. It may earn you some points with the other faculty."

Glynda turned slightly pink. "That's not what I intended, sir."

"No, no. Of course not,” he said, and offered her his arm.

She regarded it with a manner of resigned suspicion, and with a sigh that reminded him strongly of Ferra Agrios, accepted the gesture.

The ballroom was a lovely sort of controlled chaos, the brightly colored swirls of gowns broken up by the darkness of suits and tuxedos. Ozpin gave Glynda a faux-cheerful nod as they separated, heading to the punch bowl, which naturally cleared upon his appearance. He wasn't offended; few students truly wished to engage their former headmaster in casual conversation.

The sentiment was mutual; there was only one former student he was interested in talking to tonight. 

He filled his cup generously, wishing to drown any remaining emotions with the sugar-sweet concoction created by the Beacon kitchens.

The last time he drank this punch, Qrow had appeared.

Maybe it would call him forth again.

Maybe it was time for such superstitions.

The punch worked wonders. Or perhaps it was merely a placebo to keep Ozpin in check, for as the evening stretched, he did not find much effort in warmly greeting vaguely familiar faces. Glynda, returning to his side periodically to become his blonde shadow, slowly began to relax with his socially acceptable behavior.

He wondered what Ferra had told her to keep her so concerned.

Or maybe Ferra hadn’t spoken to Glynda at all, and this behavior was merely a result of Ozpin’s own eccentricities over the past two years and his refusal to explain it was the result of his being in love, and nothing more.

He chewed on his bottom lip, struggling to retain a calm exterior, eyes incessantly sweeping the auditorium for a familiar red cape, for the smirk that used to haunt his office.

Would he smile when he saw Ozpin tonight?

The headmaster sighed, shoulders wilting.

_No need to be that optimistic._

After all, tonight was an agreement to talk, and nothing more. Ozpin’s actions could not be so easily undone, no matter the strength of wishful thinking.

Glynda wandered off again after his fourth cup of punch and he quietly celebrated the solitude.

Anxiety gave way to exhaustion.

He resisted checking his watch for the forty-third time in an hour.

_Perhaps he won’t show at all._

A fair possibility, given Qrow’s past penchant for revenge.

A simple RSVP, and then he would remain at home with Summer Rose and Taiyang Xiao Long, a real family, unconcerned with the professor who waited for him all night, stomach in knots.

Yet Ozpin would wait all night, on hope alone, waiting to find those red eyes meet his –

He blinked, but the eyes remained, remained until they were the only thing that did, the ballroom and the people and the chatter and the music fading, leaving only those eyes, and the intent within them.

Ozpin took in the rest of him instantly; Qrow was still lean but more toned than six months ago, his face darkened with careless stubble, black hair slicked back in a way that only looked effortless. Ozpin's stomach turned, both uneasy and thrilled.

_He’s beautiful._

The desire to touch him welled and boiled, Ozpin’s hands twitching.

_We have to talk first._

Qrow’s eyes flickered toward the elevator and it was as though they had not been separated by years, by continents; Ozpin read the meaning and forced frozen legs to obey, tossing the rest of his punch into the bin and seizing his cane.

_Back to the office. Like old times._

He swallowed the thought and the hope that came with it and tapped the button for the elevator. He had no grand speech prepared or rehearsed; he told Qrow he intended to listen, and he would keep that promise. The doors opened and all he heard now was the pounding of his heart, knowing that Qrow was behind him –

Ozpin turned to find no one following, the cane holding the doors for a moment while he searched the crowd.

For a second, his heart dropped into his stomach, wondering if he had imagined the entire scene out of sheer desperation. 

He let the doors close; his heart continued to hammer in his chest, shaking hands clutching at his cane.

Ghost or not, he would listen.

He owed Qrow that much.

The doors opened to his office, quiet and dark.

Empty.

Ozpin stepped out, eyes flickering to the window he kept open for two years in the hopes of –

His back hit the wall before he saw Qrow materialize out of the shadows, the breath ripped from him, cane noisily clattering to the floor. Qrow’s face was a breath away, his fists clenching Ozpin’s jacket, pressing him against the wall, his expression hard.

_He’s furious._

_Of course he is._

For several moments, neither man moved; Ozpin dropped his arms to his side and waited for the violence that would follow this reunion, dreading it but happy, at least, for this moment before it.

The silence dragged on, Qrow’s eyes searching Ozpin’s face as though trying to read his mind, his grip still harsh, his body tense against the headmaster.

_If you have to hit me, I will understand._

_If you hate me, I understand._

_And if you can’t speak first, I can apologize._

Ozpin wet his lips, and for the first time in two years, spoke to the man he loved.

“Qrow, I – _mmmph!”_

Qrow swallowed the attempted apology, his mouth on Ozpin’s with a strength that shocked the headmaster into silence anew; Ozpin’s eyes widened, stiffening at the kiss, the action exactly what he did _not_ expect –

But only for a moment. 

Ozpin’s hand moved of their own accord, pulling Qrow closer, grasping at his clothes like a man drowning, closing his eyes as the memories of this came back; visions of Qrow stealing kisses in his last year at Beacon, of their frantic attraction, of the lies they told themselves to behave, of drunk texts and pretending immoral acts where nothing more than dreams, of the desperation, the _desperation –_

In an instant, the kiss was broken, a fix stolen from the ravenous cravings the headmaster could no longer explain - could no longer deny - a quivering hand reaching to restore the younger man against him.

Qrow immediately swatted Ozpin’s hand away.

The headmaster stared, eyes wide.

Another attempt to each out, and this time Qrow struck his hand harshly away enough to sting.

It hurt, this mystifying duplicity. Heavy lids rose to meet Qrow’s intense stare, searching for an answer. 

_Pain,_ they said. _Feel my pain._

An instant of hope, of his soul’s restoration, and then –

Perhaps that was the point. 

Unravel him and leave him.

_So that is it. He will deny me as I denied him…_

_Justified, don’t you think?_

Ozpin’s stomach turned.

_Yes, I deserve this._

A revenge plot worthy of Qrow Branwen.

He dropped his gaze, reaching instead to smooth his lapels, to redo the vest buttons that had come undone under Qrow’s aggression.

In a flash, Qrow shook the headmaster, rejecting him once more, trapping him against the wall, by the arms, by his – 

_Oh oh OH –_

Qrow nudged his thigh between Ozpin’s legs and the sweet friction made his body tremble, his back arching against it, his breathless gasp inaudible against Qrow’s mouth. Qrow made a sound between a growl and a laugh – and why shouldn’t he laugh? Ozpin clung to him, legs shaking, breath coming in sharp pants, blood throbbing, _throbbing –_

A trembling grasp searched for support, settling on whatever was nearest – a shirt – desperate nails ripping across the taut fabric.

Qrow’s tongue slipped into his mouth and Ozpin made a noise that bordered on _filthy,_ feeling his fingers ache with the strength of his grip on Qrow’s shirt, electricity sparking in that kiss and moving down his spine, into his gut, settling lower –

_He feels so good._

A first kiss without being first, but so long without that Ozpin felt it keenly, the quietly distressed part of him missing a piece that he had nearly forgotten, all at once restored and clinging to it like the light in the darkness it was.

Light, no – 

_OH -_

Ozpin’s body felt like fire now, hot and aching for more, more kisses, more of Qrow’s mouth, hands, body, his body pressed against Ozpin and Ozpin needing every inch and more – 

Qrow pulled back enough for Ozpin to see the smirk, then the growing grin like bared teeth; Ozpin felt Qrow’s hand drift downward and he whined, an involuntary noise beyond his restraint, all desperation and eagerness, choked off when Qrow’s hand gripped his cock fully, Ozpin trembling violently against him, his head falling against Qrow’s shoulder as Qrow’s hands explored the parts of his body he was never before allowed – 

This was better than the dreams, than the stolen kisses in the office and the gardens, than the drunk fantasies of Qrow on top of him –

Qrow pulled back and Ozpin’s breath caught, the headmaster lifting his head in alarm, distress, only to find that familiar smirk on Qrow’s lips again.

_He’s enjoying this._

_Enjoying what?_

_Making you fall apart._

Qrow studied him for a moment, long enough that Ozpin could imagine what he saw – his former headmaster, composure evaporated, lips red from friction, eyes wild with what he wanted from Qrow, from what Qrow could do to him with a touch.

Two years apart served only to simmer the desire already there, boiling over the moment Qrow kissed him again.

_Please don’t stop._

_Please don’t leave me._

The request must have been obvious on Ozpin’s face, for Qrow’s eyes narrowed – a predator finding willing prey. Without warning, his hands were on Ozpin’s jacket, pulling it from his shoulders, the action rough, leaving it at Ozpin’s elbows as though he meant to keep the headmaster’s arms in place –

Just as quickly, Qrow’s hands traveled lower, Ozpin feeling the tug of his belt in alarm, feebly wishing to react beyond helplessly reaching out with pinned hands.

_He means to have me at his mercy._

Ozpin nearly whined at the thought and all the implications that came with it, pulling at the coat that confined him while Qrow – 

Qrow plunged his hands into Ozpin’s open pants and the headmaster let out a strangled moan, back arching off the wall for moment before an ungentle hand shoved him back against it; and so he could only tremble and whimper, clenching his eyes shut as Qrow’s palm ran down the length of his cock, Ozpin biting his lips when fingers enclosed it, hard enough to hurt, to taste blood.

He couldn’t breathe; his body shut down even the most basic instincts aside from what Qrow wanted and what Qrow touched, his restrained arms flat against the wall, fingers grasping in futility at the smoothness there. Qrow pushed Ozpin’s pants down, the belt striking the floor loudly, the headmaster shivering at the cool air on exposed skin, keenly aware of the scrutiny Qrow now gave his body, the blush consumed by the heat of everything else in this moment, his chest heaving with the need for Qrow to touch him _again –_

Qrow straightened, his hands at his own buttons, Ozpin’s breath catching at the sight, too many nights and daydreams wondering if _those_ parts of him where as perfect as the rest –

He struggled against the jacket, freeing one arm with difficulty, pulling the other loose so that he could reach for Qrow again –

Qrow caught his hands and then his wrists were above him, Ozpin wriggling against the unfairness of being unable to touch him, his quickened breath coming out as a whimper at this new form of restraint. Qrow refused to meet his eyes as he held Ozpin in place with one hand, the other moving back down to take them both in hand, Ozpin’s struggling abruptly ending the moment Qrow’s fingers wrapped around them, around them both, thrusting softly against him, the pleasure so intense that Ozpin’s vision clouded over. All he could hear was his own panting and the thunder of blood in his ears, unable to speak, to see, to feel anything beyond the fever that burned him.

_Touch me more touch me –_

But Qrow seemed content with the friction of their cocks against his hand, his other hand still gripping Ozpin’s wrists in place like a vice, the headmaster’s hips bucking involuntarily, needing _more._

And then the hand was gone and Ozpin’s moan of frustration was too loud, Qrow’s eyes flickering up to gauge the desperation there, the little smirk returning.

_So this is how he plans to avenge himself against me,_ Ozpin thought wildly, tugging at the hand that held him down. He tried to steady his breathing, eyes moving over Qrow’s partial nudity like a starving man, the darkness in the office concealing too much of him and Ozpin nearly groaned at the injustice, the exasperation enough that he almost missed the soft click of a bottle being snapped shut.

_Was that…?_

The answer came as cold, slick fingertips slipped down his backside, Ozpin’s eyes widening, a harsh gasp escaping bruised lips when one thrust roughly within, his back arching violently.

_He’s inside me._

The fact was almost as delicious as the sensation itself, Ozpin’s hips moving on their own, gyrating to take more, _more –_

Another jarring push back against the wall and Ozpin groaned aloud now at the incessant distance between them, meeting Qrow’s eyes to plead, beg –

But Qrow’s expression contained no mercy, and a second finger, too rough, made Ozpin cry out.

_He’ll rip me apart._

_He’ll do it and he won’t care._

But a few flicks of his wrist and the heat overcame the discomfort, Ozpin’s hips bucking irregularly, gasping each time Qrow grazed his prostate –

_I can’t take this I can’t I need more –_

A third finger and a calculated press, and Ozpin arched against Qrow with a tortured moan, so obscenely pleasurable that he barely felt his body strike the wall again.

“Q-Qrow…”

The name sounded like a question but Ozpin didn’t know what he was asking for, his voice hoarse and wavering.

Qrow’s eyes wandered up, studying the wreck of Ozpin’s expression, and then he withdrew his hand, releasing Ozpin’s wrists, the headmaster’s arms sore as he dropped them to his side, knowing better than to reach for Qrow now. 

_He’s set the rules and if I don’t obey, he’ll leave._

How desperate could Qrow make him?

_Entirely._

He watched Qrow slick himself – gods, Ozpin had doubts about whether Qrow would fit in him but his body was too eager to try, leaning heavily against the wall for this moment of respite, drinking in the skin he had never seen before, aching to touch it.

How much could Qrow force him to beg?

_As much as it takes to keep him._

He let Qrow lift his leg without protest, the younger man bracing himself with on hand on Ozpin’s shoulder, pinning him at arm’s length while the headmaster trembled for _more._ A pause, a drag of Qrow’s tip against him and Ozpin moaned softly, lifting his hands to grip the arm restraining him, desperate for any touch he was allowed. He raised lust-fogged eyes to meet Qrow’s red gaze, and then –

Qrow thrust inside and Ozpin cried out, fingers gripping his arm urgently. At once, Qrow filled him, filled him and broke him, sweet lingering pain rippling from groin to toes and fingertips, Ozpin writhing around him. Even Qrow paused now, his breath ragged, eyes closing as though to savor the moment. Ozpin longed to reach out to him, to touch his face, to run fingers across his face, down his throat – 

_Please let me touch you –_

A nudge of Qrow’s hips shattered the thought, Ozpin moaning softly as Qrow adjusted himself. An easy thrust and then all gentleness was gone, Qrow slamming into him again and again, the act one of violence more than love, Ozpin taking it all with choked breaths, helpless against the flood of pleasure and pain and everything that drowned him now, holding himself up on Qrow’s arm for how unsteady his legs had become.

This body’s first lover and yet Ozpin moved with the experience of lives past, forgotten pleasures bringing the motions back in an instant, canting his hips in unison with Qrow’s ferocity. His eyes fluttered closed automatically but he shook off the instinct.

_I want to see him._

The sight was one of dreams, of forbidden daydreams from years ago, Qrow’s brow damp with perspiration, face set with determination, his shirt hanging open to the flesh Ozpin touched only with his eyes, his hips thrusting again and again and again as Ozpin devolved because of them.

They hadn’t spoken, not beyond the plaintive repetition of Qrow’s name, but now it was unnecessary; Ozpin spoke through his eagerness, with the restrained moans Qrow dragged from him, with the urgency of his grip on Qrow’s arm. And Qrow – 

_Is this forgiveness?_

Qrow released Ozpin’s shoulder and his hand shot down, fingers wrapping around Ozpin’s cock, timing his thrust with a flick of his wrist, the headmaster arching anew, consumed by the pleasure, going mad from it –

“Qrow, I – I – ”

A moan cut off the words, Ozpin’s hands clutching at Qrow despite being disallowed, back bowing with a violence that thrust him against Qrow, the orgasm too powerful for anything else but an attempt to keep from drowning, bracing himself against the waves. Qrow grunted, his pace faltering, his grip on Ozpin’s leg painful now – 

Ozpin gasped, the heat filling him, trembling as Qrow pumped into him, slowly, slowly, the deliberation enough that the headmaster moaned softly, the intimacy of the moment too much to bear, a dream of so many years realized.

He gave Ozpin a sharp nudge with his hips and the headmaster yelped, feeling the ripple move up his spine; Qrow pulled out and released Ozpin’s leg with a carelessness that made him nearly topple over, staggering against the wall for support, wincing at this rough treatment.

The afterglow remained in the headmaster’s shaking limbs and breathlessness, but the warmth in his mind dispelled at the sight of Qrow turning away from him.

A moment of bliss, and then, in an instant, gone.

His stomach churned.

_Don’t go. Not like this._

He struggled to find his breath, his words, as Qrow rounded the desk, stooping to –

The door in the wall opened soundlessly.

Ozpin blinked, striving to follow the meaning behind Qrow’s actions now, the easy understanding of years ago gone, it seemed – replaced by the distance of a man betrayed. 

_I don’t understand._

And yet he would not ask, the tension of the silence something somehow sacred, to be broken when Qrow deemed it.

Ozpin remained leaning against the wall, eyes following Qrow as he stalked back to the headmaster, reaching to seize one of Ozpin’s wrists, dragging him toward the apartment. Ozpin stumbled over his discarded pants, keenly aware of the warmth that trickled down his leg, too afraid to hope –

Qrow pushed him into the apartment and then he was on top of Ozpin again, lips crushing against his so roughly that Ozpin remembered biting his open; he dismissed the pain, closing his eyes when he felt Qrow’s hands pulling at his vest, his shirt –

Demands without respite.

_I understand. I understand._

Ozpin kissed him back with equal strength, reaching to push the shirt off Qrow’s shoulders, reveling in the smoothness of the skin beneath, already feeling the ache in his groin – 

_If these are his demands,_ Ozpin thought, dizzy when Qrow pushed him backwards onto the bed, _then I have no choice but to serve my penance._


	4. In which Ozpin and Qrow have a long-awaited conversation, and a distance closes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Electric heights  
> I'm a dizzy spell away from getting close to you  
> I was alive  
> With the things I never really thought that you could do  
> Can't compromise  
> When I think about the chance I had to make it work  
> I wanna die  
> From the ways I never really thought that it'd hurt
> 
> But now I'm begging you for something that I thought I'd never want  
> Tears me to the ground this is the apex of your hunt
> 
> I prayed I'd have something that you'd still need  
> I'd have something that you'd still want  
> But now finding you gone, I see  
> I was alive  
> I was alive
> 
> But there were too many flags on the sand  
> Too many eyes  
> I never really thought that you would be my man  
> Electric heights  
> I'm a dizzy spell away from getting close to you  
> I wanna die  
> From the things I never really thought that you could do
> 
> Sight before sound, and I'm left there, oh  
> Sight before sound, and I'm left there, oh
> 
> Begging you, needing to  
> Begging you, needing to”
> 
> \- Phildel, “Electric Heights”

Ozpin woke to the soft buzz of his scroll, as he did nearly every morning, alerting him of an email. He set an alarm merely out of habit; he hadn't needed one in years. The email he received every morning at six o'clock was a summary of all that had passed at his school in the last twenty-four hours. It was his morning routine to browse the familiar events (so rarely did anything of interest pass at Beacon that he was not already aware) over coffee -

He groaned internally with the realization he had neglected to set the coffee machine for the morning. For a long moment he lay with his eyes still closed, attempting to recall what had distracted him from such an important task. He groped blindly for his glasses, only opening his eyes when his fingers grazed the metal frames on the nightstand. 

The light of the morning was a shock; instantly he shut his eyes in protest. 

_I overslept._

_Why would I have done that?_

He attempted to sit up but then the rest of his body objected, muscles shooting sparks of pain down his spine. For a moment all was aching confusion as Ozpin tried to solve why -

_Qrow._

His mind caught up at once with a barrage of lust-tinted memories. 

_He came back._

Part of him wondered if it had been something of a vivid, inappropriate dream, but his battered body was evidence enough. 

No, he remembered now, the pain and the pleasure in his office, how Qrow had dragged him into the apartment, impatiently tearing Ozpin’s clothes asunder as though he had full authority of the headmaster’s body –

_But he does, does he not?_

\- and then they were on the bed, Qrow’s body deliciously bare, Ozpin drinking in what he could see in the darkness, Qrow’s hands holding his down and Ozpin submitting to that stipulation fully, so long as Qrow could make him feel that pleasure again and _again –_

Ozpin was vaguely aware the bed was empty before he opened his eyes, searching the room so far as he could without moving (Qrow’s aggression had activated the headmaster’s Aura but Ozpin had crushed it back down, unwilling to shield himself from everything Qrow made him feel).

_What if he left?_

Ozpin swallowed the panic that rose in his chest, bracing himself a moment before he sat up, his body objecting in every way, long-forgotten muscles aching –

Qrow faced away from the bed, toward the open door, sunlight spilling into the apartment, his pants on (Ozpin could not recall precisely where the rest of their clothes had ended up), and the panic boiled over, the headmaster’s breath catching –

“Don’t go.”

Qrow paused, glancing back. He cocked his head as though waiting for Ozpin to continue.

He still hadn’t said a word to Ozpin and he longed for something, _anything –_

“Please,” Ozpin said quietly. “Please don’t leave.”

Qrow stared at him and Ozpin held his breath.

He seemed to enjoy the headmaster’s distress, lips twitching.

_He means to punish me still._

“I was gonna make coffee.”

Ozpin stared now, almost surprised Qrow possessed a voice, deeper and more graveled than he remembered, words not unlike the growled noise he made when he –

Ozpin cleared his throat, dropping his eyes, the anxiety falling off him abruptly, leaving a vague sickness in its place.

“Oh,” he said.

Qrow turned away and Ozpin was certain he was smiling now.

_What does that mean?_

_Does he meant to torment me? Is he pleased that I’ve made my stance so clear?_

Ozpin sighed, easing himself back down, wincing at the sparks that prickled from his backside.

_You’re not as young as you once were._

_I’m not as experienced either._

He closed his eyes, letting his Aura wash over him now, the aches fading, a gentle warmth replacing them. 

_He’s making coffee. He spoke to me._

_Small steps in the right direction._

His scroll buzzed again and he reached for it automatically, needing the distraction to keep his mind from tearing itself apart.

“Good morning, Glynda.”

“Ozpin.”

The headmaster sat up again (his body only quietly objecting now, the green glow of his Aura fading).

“Ferra.”

“You don’t sound happy to hear from me,” she said, her voice amused. “You said you would call me last night.”

Ozpin’s eyes darted to the open door of his apartment, the faint scent of coffee wafting through. 

“Yes, well. It was…a long night.”

He flinched at his own innuendo. The truth was that he had no idea what time it was when Qrow finally rolled off of him and began to snore, Ozpin weak and spent and wholly _satisfied –_

He cleared his throat, feeling his body warm with the thoughts.

“Is that right.”

Ozpin restrained a sigh; Ferra knew his evasion tactics better than anyone – except Qrow.

“He…he stayed the night.”

“Atta boy.”

“Ferra.”

She paused on the other end. “Is everything all right?”

“I…don’t know.”

“Didn’t you talk it out?”

“We…ah.” Ozpin cleared his throat again out of sheer embarrassment. “We didn’t…”

“Oh, _gods,”_ Ferra said, and she began to laugh.

Ozpin felt his face alight.

_”Ferra.”_

“I’m sorry,” she said, in a tone that indicated she wasn’t at all. “But it’s…well. What happened? Did he just turn up and you swooned into his arms?”

“I did not _swoon.”_

Ferra chuckled, amused at his impertinence. “Mmhmm. So you haven’t talked about this at all?”

“Talk?” Ozpin repeated sarcastically, his eyes returning again to the door. “He’s said all of five words to me. I…don’t know what he’s thinking. I can’t determine if he came here just to…get me out of his system and then leave again – ”

“You don’t know that, no.”

Ozpin inhaled, closing his eyes. “He’s changed, Ferra. He’s almost…reverted back to being as feral as he was when he first enrolled at Beacon, but this time, I’m not certain I can help.”

“I’ve never heard you sound so defeatist about helping someone before. Talk to him, Ozpin.”

“He may not wish to talk.”

“Then talk _at_ him. If he’s still there, he hasn’t decided to leave you. Talk to him. Remind him why he came back.”

Ozpin let out a long sigh. 

An obvious piece of advice, but daunting nonetheless.

“Thank you, Ferra. Invaluable as always.”

“I know.”

The line disconnected without another word, Ozpin’s lips twitching.

_At least someone remains a voice of reason,_ he thought, feeling the other souls within chuckle and then settle, leaving Ozpin to face Qrow.

After all, this was his personal mess.

He looked up when Qrow returned, still shirtless, two mugs in hand. He offered one to Ozpin soundlessly, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

Far enough that Ozpin could not touch him if he reached out.

_An act of self-defense._

Ozpin felt the wound intensely.

“Qrow, I must ask…do you intend on staying?”

Qrow’s eyes roved over Ozpin’s face – could he read the anxiety there? – and he lifted his mug to his lips.

“Dunno.”

Ozpin nodded, weighing the tremendous meaning in the word.

“I see. Is there something I could do to convince you to stay?”

Qrow stared – intense, as he once did as a student fresh from the wilderness of bandit life.

“Dunno,” he said again.

_So perhaps he doesn’t wish to talk._

_If he’s still there, he hasn’t decided to leave you._

Ozpin sipped at his coffee, struggling to find words that would fix everything, mend the hole in his soul, the loneliness of his office, keep the warmth of last night in his bed, in his life.

Words slipped through his fingers, frightened away by the gravity of the moment.

Years ago, they bonded effortlessly over whiskey and their mutual aversion to socializing; they grew close over chess and the gradual realization that Ozpin was more human than he pretended, that Qrow was clever, kind, a beautiful soul hidden beneath the cruelty of the world –

“You once asked me what I feared,” Ozpin said.

The words escaped without thought and he let them.

_Calculated moves were for the chess board. Qrow needs transparency. He deserves that much from me._

Qrow’s eyes flickered up, waiting for Ozpin to continue. 

“I told you I feared failure. My actions, my decisions, have shaped the world. I am not innocent in the mistakes that I have made, whether intentional or accidental. They are my responsibility, and I spend my lives atoning for them. Every action of mine now is weighted, analyzed, because despite my wishes against it, I possess an influence that, if not wielded with caution, can cause destruction.

“Sometimes that destruction is not global; I have ruined the lives of those I loved, and that particular manner of wound…hurts in a manner that I find intolerable. It is the reason I have not allowed myself to become close; I simply…cannot bear it. And it is devastatingly apparent that I failed you in this way, and the consequences have proven to be dire to us both.

“I have failed you, Qrow, in a manner so intimate that I broke something dearer to me than anything this life has known. I have struggled to heal in your absence, but I know – have known – that I will never forgive myself until you grant me that first.”

Ozpin paused, taking a sip of coffee to steady his nerves. Qrow continued to stare, his eyes alert, lips hard.

But he was listening.

“You owe me nothing,” Ozpin said. “Everything I did for you, gave to you, I did without expectations. I did so because I cared for you – firstly as a student, then as a friend, and later as…something much more. I turned you away not because of you, but because I sincerely believe I am something of a curse. I thought…I thought you would understand that. My decision was based not on how much I cared for you, but how little I care for myself.”

Ozpin’s throat closed and he raised his mug again.

“For that,” he said, his voice growing soft, “for everything you have struggled with as a direct consequence of my mistakes, I apologize. I…don’t expect you to forgive me today, or tomorrow, but I hope that you came here because it is something you are prepared to consider. As you said, I am not certain there is anything I can say or do to ease your mind, to convince you that you are wanted – needed – here. But I will continue to try, for as many lives as it takes, if you would grant me the honor of that opportunity.”

Qrow nodded, weighing Ozpin’s words. “You know, I’ve always hated talking. First ‘cause it was pointless – it’s what you do that matters…” 

He let his voice trail off, staring at the bed sheets, his brow ruffled. “Then ‘cause it hurt. Like it became a minefield. Fucking stupid. Words are just words…but when you told me to...” 

He ran a hand through his hair, anxiously ripping through forgotten tangles. 

_He’s afraid. Afraid I’ll change my mind and turn him away again._

“Say whatever you want now, Oz, but what you do is gonna mean a hell of a lot more.”

“I don’t intend to try and manipulate you through words.” Ozpin’s fingers tapped his mug nervously. “And I am more than willing to show you that I mean this through action, but…you will need to give me time to do so.”

Qrow leveled his eyes at the headmaster, an intense stare searching for answers, confirmation, truth. 

“If everything could be fixed in the blink of an eye, then it wouldn’t be worth messing up in the first place,” he said.

Ozpin paused, considering the brisk answer, restraining the flutter of hope that came with it. He still longed to reach out and touch Qrow, just a hand on his cheek, or his hand on his – any amount of chaste contact to remind Ozpin that he had really returned.

“I agree,” he said at length. “We can take this one day at a time. I will try attempt not to be…overeager. Can I ask that you inform me if I cause you unease?”

“It may not always be with words,” Qrow warned. “Don’t use those much anymore.”

_Where had Qrow gone after graduation? What happened to him?_

“I understand. I will do my best to listen, in any language.”

Qrow nodded and drank his coffee.

Ozpin felt the end of the conversation there, leaning back against the pillow, vaguely defeated.

_How much hope should I feel from this?_

The distance between them stretched on.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Qrow said suddenly, pushing himself off the bed. “You got an extra toothbrush, or should I just use yours?”

Ozpin blinked, looking up at the expectant red eyes.

“Oh. Yes. Let me.” He placed the mug on the side table and slipped from the sheets.

He recalled his own nudity too late, fumbling to recover himself, his face alight instantly. In the heat of the moment last night, he had not minded Qrow stripping him, but now, in the sober light of morning –

He looked up when Qrow laughed, low and dark, face amused.

Ozpin’s flush deepened. 

“I’ll find it,” Qrow said. He swaggered off into the bathroom as Ozpin sank back into bed, face too warm.

Embarrassment aside, Qrow keeping something here – even just a toothbrush – was hope enough, and Ozpin let it fill him, pushing back his blush.

_It’s a start,_ he thought, hearing the water start in the bathroom.

***

For a week, Ozpin woke uncertain if Qrow had stayed. He didn’t always remain in the tower overnight, leaving after reducing Ozpin into a boneless mess in the sheets, quiet wings taking flight from the window.

But he returned in the morning, sometimes sitting across from Ozpin, silently sipping coffee while the headmaster worked – or pretended to, stealing looks at his lover to determine his mood, relief washing over him like a warm bath.

He did not tell Qrow that he spent those nights waiting up, sleep impossible with the absence of Qrow from his bed, anxiety eating at him until he was sick from it.

A promise made – no manipulation through words. 

And so Ozpin would merely wish Qrow a good night and a good morning, and left the rest unsaid. The rest, he knew, Qrow could read on his face.

And of course, the sheer physicality – 

Ozpin was constantly exhausted, perpetually sore in places his body had previously forgotten, and yet he could not truly find the words to tell Qrow no.

Quite frankly, he didn't want to.

He wanted Qrow to attack him when he least expected it, push him against walls, his desk, the bed; he wanted Qrow's desperate hands running down his sides, hunting for garment closures; he wanted all of Qrow, all of the time. 

Qrow had to know the effect he had on the headmaster; Ozpin could read the younger man's quick, analyzing glances, judging if he was being too rough, or too overwhelming. Ozpin let Qrow read the quiet truth, giving him no reason to slow his attentions, even when Ozpin was no longer sure he could handle it.

Especially then.

Ozpin quietly obeyed the one other rule Qrow imposed – one of physical distance. No casual good night kisses, no lingering touches. Qrow’s exploration of Ozpin’s body was rough, almost utilitarian, sometimes abruptly pulled back, as though Qrow suddenly remembered, in the heat of the moment, that he was trying to forget his attachment to Ozpin, using his body only for a primal need.

Ozpin let him, restraining his own desire to touch, leaving his hands flat on the bed, knowing that each time Qrow’s hands wandered over the headmaster’s chest, the divots of his muscles, that Qrow felt something beyond flesh.

The feelings remained, buried for Qrow’s self-protection, and Ozpin’s presence threatened to bring it all to surface again.

There were moments too, when Ozpin would grasp at Qrow’s arms or back or hips, only to withdraw with considerable effort, Qrow’s eyes following the touch and restraint as he reduced Ozpin to desperation; as the days went on, Ozpin withdrew more slowly, and Qrow’s eyes ceased to reflect disapproval.

There were quiet days, when Qrow silently offered Ozpin time to heal and rest and work, disappearing for hours again, his whereabouts a mystery until the headmaster found a single black feather in his coffee mug, turning eyes upward into the moving gears overhead.

After that, Qrow’s vanishing acts did not alarm him, and he resigned himself to an occasional feather in his coffee – a small sacrifice for peace of mind.

The silences became easier with time; Qrow’s expressions remained different from years before, but Ozpin studied them anew, like a language of eyes and eyebrows and lips, less lost to Qrow’s unspoken moods.

Qrow began to stay overnight, and Ozpin curled on his side of the bed, afraid to scare him off.

And then there were the nightmares. 

They weren't wholly unexpected; Ozpin had been plagued with them for as long as he could remember - and he could remember quite a lot, the twisted memories and fears of too many years, of too many minds, cut and sewn back together and ripped apart again to form some manner of awful patchwork quilt in his head. 

The memories didn't bother him as much as the shadow that fell over every nightmare, black and white and blood red eyes. It was always her eyes that caused him to wake in a cold sweat.  
When he woke this time, he was already sitting upright, his eyes taking too long to prove to his overwrought mind that he was in his bedroom. He could still hear the faint low tones of her voice, repeating his name with a dark smile.

"Ozpin..."

He shuddered, flinching when he felt hands on him, gripping his shoulders.

"Ozpin. Look at me."

He blinked, the voice turned masculine, concern drowning out the darkness. 

_Qrow._

Ozpin stared at him for a long moment, his brain struggling to catch up to explain why he was there. Slowly, the last week sunk back in, the veil of the nightmare beginning to fade.

Qrow reached up and gently brushed damp hair from the headmaster's eyes. "You all right?" he asked softly.

_A touch. A touch meant to comfort._

"Yes," Ozpin said, a tremor in the syllable.

"You always sucked at lying to me. I remember…the nightmares in the hospital.”

Ozpin let out a long breath, letting the world stabilize again. He truly felt Qrow's arms around him and he leaned into the embrace, resting his head on the younger man's shoulder.

_He’s touching me._

_I’ve missed that so._

"It was just a dream."

"Oz. You were screaming."

The headmaster looked up. "Was I?"

"Well, it was like...you were trying to but couldn't. That wasn't just a dream." The note of concern grew, Qrow's arms tightening.

"No," Ozpin said quietly. "But it is a common nightmare. Except..."

Ozpin felt the nudge of Qrow’s shoulder encourage him further.

"You were there this time. That was...new."

Qrow didn't say anything, his fingers moving along Ozpin's shoulders, gentle as though to prevent from startling him further. 

Ozpin sighed, settling more heavily against Qrow, reminding himself of the realness of him, the coolness of his skin, this one act of affection allowed.

"That bad?"

"Promise me you'll keep this a secret," Ozpin said, the demand sudden and sharp.

"The nightmares?"

"Us. This. All of this. Swear it to me, Qrow. If she knew and something happened to you, I – "

"All right," Qrow murmured, gently interrupting the note of rising panic in the headmaster’s voice. He placed a hand on Ozpin's head, fingers running through silver hair.

Ozpin sighed again, but this time the exhale was less pressured, his limbs finally beginning to relax again. The gentle fingers stroking his hair was surprisingly calming, his exhausted mind finally slowing down, the shadows from the nightmare evaporating off now that Qrow was safely in his arms. 

Ozpin was not certain how long it was before his eyes grew too heavy to keep open, but as he drifted back off to sleep, he felt the touch of Qrow's hand in his hair, and the warm press of Qrow's lips against his forehead.

The nightmare, the panic in his blood – perhaps worth these gentle touches, the first reassurance that Qrow might still love him, despite all things.

***

He was gone in the morning.

Ozpin’s blind fingers groped for his scroll, sleep-heavy eyes peering at the routine six o’clock email. He felt Qrow’s absence before his eyes confirmed it, the pillow still bearing his outline, the headmaster’s hand trailing over it with a sigh.

Perhaps those touches last night had been too much, a level of intimacy Ozpin had not yet earned again, and now Qrow sought solitude.

He wouldn’t roost in the gears – not today.

Distance.

Ozpin sighed again, rubbed his eyes, and threw back the covers.

Coffee and work.

The rest would fall into place.

_My new daily mantra._

But he had no time to give to worry today; meetings filled his schedule, meetings with Glynda, and faculty to discuss the fall curriculum, a conference call with Leo Lionheart, an update with Summer Rose –

He sighed again, pressing the button to start the coffee machine.

A shower, a cup of coffee or three, and less thinking.

And yet the meetings failed to distract him entirely, Ozpin checking his scroll between them, waiting for the text he knew would not come. Qrow would return in his own time, and Ozpin promised to allow that without protest, no matter how sick the waiting made him.

He returned to his office in the late afternoon just as the elevator pinged. He refilled his mug and fell into his chair, weary from anxiety, and pressed the button to allow Summer Rose access.

He greeted her warmly, false smiles and reassurances, a brief conversation about her upcoming mission, the questions she had regarding the details, Ozpin glancing at his watch, wondering if the day would ever end, or if Qrow would wait to return until after Summer left –

“Sir, I have a question that isn’t about the mission.”

Ozpin’s eyes darted from his watch to her face. “Of course.”

Summer hesitated. “It’s…probably not a very welcome subject.”

“You wish to know if Qrow has been here.”

She blinked in surprise, lips parting. “I – yes, that was my question. He hasn’t been home in a almost a week, and his texts are…unhelpful.”

“He’s come to see me.” Ozpin raised his mug, debating which details were safe to share.

“And?” Summer asked, her eyes wide.

“I don’t think he is in danger of…relapsing.”

Summer went silent for a moment, another question evident on her face.

“Does that mean you’ve made up, sir?”

“I…have chosen to respect Qrow’s decision on that matter,” Ozpin said slowly, “but I…hope so.”

“I’m sure you will!” Summer exclaimed. “Please give it time, sir. Qrow is…please don’t give up on him.”

“I have no intention of doing so.”

Summer smiled. “I’m glad to hear it. And I’m glad you’re watching over him. He needs us. Friends.”

_Friends._

Ozpin offered a weak smile. “Of course.”

When she finally left, Ozpin rose, refilling his mug again (how many cups was this today?), rubbing his eyes too aggressively behind his glasses.

_Friends._

They’re weren’t though, not any more. Lovers without being friends, sex and distance and nothing more.

He turned back to his desk, determined to work until he couldn’t think or keep his eyes open, everything about this day unbearable –

“I thought she’d never leave.”

Ozpin froze, mug in hand.

Qrow sat in the headmaster’s chair, his legs thrown carelessly over an armrest, a smirk on his lips, flask in hand.

Ozpin’s eyes flickered from Qrow to the gears overhead.

_Had he been there all day?_

“You look like you’re gonna puke, Oz.”

“I…forgive me, it’s been a trying day.”

“Is that my fault?”

“No.”

“Oz.”

Ozpin sighed, returning to the desk, taking the seat across from Qrow. “I gave you my word, Qrow. I intend to honor your need for space.”

“You also said you wouldn’t lie to me.”

Ozpin’s fingers ran along the handle of his mug. “Old habits,” he murmured. “You’re right; I admit I spent the day wondering if you would come back.”

Qrow nodded slowly, taking a pull from his flask. “I’m here now.”

Ozpin managed a soft chuckle, the relief of that statement washing over him. “So you are.”

“So what’re you gonna do about it?”

Ozpin’s eyes shot up.

_An invitation?_

He struggled to believe it.

Yet the tease reminded Ozpin of years past, when Qrow’s inappropriate commentary caused shivers, doubts about feelings he sought to suppress, ignore, touches he could not give into.

He could give into them now.

Ozpin rose, circling the desk; Qrow’s smirk returned as he straightened in the chair, tipping his flask back once more, the scent of whiskey growing stronger. The headmaster hesitated, feeling nervousness creep up alongside his blush, Qrow’s stare unwavering as Ozpin reached out to run fingertips along his chin, the stubble like fine sandpaper.

He wanted to feel that against his own cheek, rough enough to leave marks.

“May I kiss you?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

Qrow replied with a smirk, Ozpin mesmerized by the tongue that wet his lips.

_Anticipation. Permission._

Ozpin leaned over him, softly pressing his lips to Qrow’s mouth, eyes closing on contact. Qrow let him control the moment, keeping the pressure light, gentle, almost chaste.

A kiss beyond mere physicality.

The realization was more intoxicating than the whiskey on Qrow’s breath, Ozpin leaning in further to press against him harder, his hand cupping Qrow’s cheek, fingers inching beyond to his hairline, eager to run hands through his hair –

He pulled back, breaking the kiss abruptly, a sharp inhale as he straightened.

Qrow’s red eyes questioned him and Ozpin shook his head lightly.

_I don’t want to chase him away._

But Qrow caught his wrist, giving Ozpin’s arm a light tug.

Ozpin met his eyes again, reading the reassurance there.

First a demand for space, and now, something else – 

_I feel like I’ll go mad in this purgatory._

And so he steeled himself, determined to find relief in one way or another, placing his knee on one side of Qrow and sliding into his lap, Ozpin leaning in with his entire body to press his mouth against Qrow again, gentle for only a moment, until he could reach with both hands to pull Qrow’s face toward him.

There was no distance now, Ozpin pressed against every inch of him, fingers digging into Qrow’s hair, the contact making him all the more desperate for more, for touches beyond base purposes, beyond repressed feelings, beyond reassurance.

Qrow’s hands trailed along Ozpin’s back, tracing shoulder blades, drifting between his jacket and vest, Ozpin using that encouragement to deepen the kiss, opening his lips and letting Qrow’s tongue in, tasting of whiskey, Ozpin’s contented sigh swallowed whole.

_We should have done this years ago._

Ozpin kissed him again and again, his mouth memorizing the way Qrow’s moved against his, each press of their lips a little harder than the last, Ozpin feeling lightheaded from his own breathlessness, from the pressure of Qrow’s body against him. Qrow’s hips bucked gently against his lap and Ozpin broke the kiss, shuddering at the abrupt strain there, his hands clenching at Qrow’s shirt.

“Maybe we should – ”

“Bedroom, yes,” Ozpin said, breathless.

Qrow’s chuckle was low like a growl as he reached toward the keypad, returning to offer Ozpin another kiss, rising as one, linked at the mouth. Ozpin moved backward, refusing to break the connection, pulling Qrow with him, his body aching with anticipation.

_This isn’t like the other times._

They stumbled into the apartment, Qrow peeling the jacket from Ozpin’s shoulders, letting it hit the floor before reaching for his own shirt.

“Wait,” Ozpin said, catching his hand.

Qrow met his eyes.

“Let me.”

A smirk, and then Qrow hopped onto the bed, leaning back on his elbows, waiting.

Ozpin’s heart rose to his throat, pounding at the significance of this consent. He climbed onto the bed, settling on his knees before Qrow, reaching with nervous hands for the first of his shirt buttons. He pulled one open with a sense of elation, eyes devouring the flesh it revealed, skin he ached to touch for years, _years –_

Fingertips grazed Qrow’s chest and Ozpin sighed heavily, pausing to revel in the moment for just a second longer before his hands moved rapidly down Qrow’s shirt, popping each button open with a greater sense of earnestness, until Qrow lay bared before him, pale skin and soft pink nipples, muscles constricting gently under Ozpin’s hesitant touch.

He leaned forward to run his hands down Qrow’s chest, fingers splayed to touch as much as possible at once, playing over Qrow’s abdomen when his breath hitched, Ozpin marveling at the contraction. Fingers drifted over Qrow’s collarbones, the taut muscles in his neck when he craned it to allow Ozpin’s exploration.

_I need to taste him._

Without a word, Ozpin bent to kiss Qrow’s throat, the side of his neck, offering his earlobe a quick lick, chuckling when Qrow hissed, his breath ragged.

“Oz – ”

“I know,” the headmaster whispered. “I remember on our date…I wiped paint from your ear and you gave me such a look…”

Qrow wore that look now, eyes narrowed like a predator.

“I wanted to fuck you into the wall.”

Ozpin let out a contented sigh against Qrow’s skin, peppering kisses there. “I wanted you to,” he murmured.

_Transparency._

Qrow made an impatient noise as Ozpin moved down slowly to press lips gently along collarbones, and then further, along the grooves of Qrow’s chest while Ozpin’s hands drifted to grip his waist, fingers digging into the pliant flesh. Ozpin’s groin throbbed but he kept his survey deliberate, pausing to sweep his eyes over Qrow’s chest once more before his mouth returned to it.

Qrow’s breath caught when Ozpin took a nipple in his mouth, running the tip of his tongue over the bud. Qrow’s hands rose to clutch at Ozpin’s clothes when the headmaster continued to suck, Ozpin feeling the low groan vibrate in Qrow’s chest.

Ozpin lifted his head to meet Qrow’s eyes, still narrow with want, but Ozpin shook his head.

_I’m not done yet._

Ozpin inched down Qrow’s chest, lips moving along his abdomen as his hands reached for the buttons on Qrow’s pants, his fingers grazing the bulge below, eliciting another ragged breath from his impatient lover. A moment’s struggle and the pants were tossed aside with Ozpin’s jacket, the headmaster’s eyes drinking in Qrow’s bare legs, the definition of waist muscles that led to impressively tented boxers.

Ozpin previously appreciated Qrow’s size but now he had the opportunity to _appreciate_ it, carefully peeling the boxers down until Qrow’s cock was freed, thick and hard and red, already leaking from the tip.

With effort, he slowed his breathing, running his palms down Qrow’s chest and around his groin, Qrow almost panting with the touches Ozpin hadn’t granted yet. 

_Beautiful. Every part of him is beautiful._

Ozpin took Qrow’s cock in hand and Qrow groaned, bucking his hips against Ozpin’s palm.

“It’s been…a very long time since I’ve done this.”

Qrow’s eyes drifting back up in time to watch Ozpin’s mouth descend around him, his hands immediately in Ozpin’s hair, gripping him hard enough that Ozpin winced, careful not to graze his teeth against Qrow.

He tasted divine, salt of sweat and precum, the natural sweetness of his skin, the gentle heat that emanated from his arousal. Ozpin bobbed his head around him, one hand moving in unison, the other drifting to cup Qrow’s balls, appreciating the weight of them, feeling Qrow twitch against the touches, his chest heaving now from the pleasure of Ozpin’s mouth. He thrust up unexpectedly and Ozpin choked, withdrawing for a moment to breathe.

“You’re takin’ too long,” Qrow growled.

“You’re impatient,” Ozpin countered.

Qrow glared for a moment more, and then sighed, falling back on the bed in resignation. Ozpin hummed his approval, offering Qrow’s cock a soft kiss before swallowing it anew, Qrow groaning his appreciation, hands returning to Ozpin’s hair, guiding the headmaster, fingers clenching when Ozpin bobbed his head faster, or ran his tongue along the length. Ozpin coveted each sweet sound of need that he dragged from Qrow, each violent grip of his hair, bracing himself against his lover’s increasingly desperate thrusts into his mouth.

“Oz…”

A warning as Ozpin applied a particularly strong suction to his lips, Qrow’s hands clenching and unclenching against his scalp. And yet Ozpin had no intention of slowing now, bobbing his head faster, in time with Qrow’s hips, his groaned panting.

A sharp pull of his hair and then Qrow came apart in his mouth, Ozpin flinching when the hot fluid hit the back of his throat, Qrow shuddering as Ozpin continued to pump gently, swallowing what he could without choking. At last Qrow collapsed onto the bed, his hands finally releasing Ozpin’s hair, breathing ragged, eyes closed in bliss.

Ozpin sat back, wiping his mouth politely, reveling in the sight.

“Fuck,” Qrow said, breathless.

Ozpin chuckled. “Perhaps I’m not as rusty as I – ”

Qrow interrupted, pouncing on Ozpin without warning, pressing his mouth against his, his tongue sweeping in aggressively.

Ozpin moaned against him, feeling the pulse of his groin, the press of Qrow’s bare flesh against him, hands pulling Qrow closer, down his back to cup his buttocks –

Qrow’s hands were on his chest before Ozpin was aware his vest and shirt were undone, shivering against the touch, the pull of his clothes as Qrow struggled to remove them without relenting from their desperate kisses, Ozpin releasing Qrow’s ass to fumble with his own pants –

Qrow leaned back long enough to rip them from Ozpin’s legs and toss them aside, the headmaster impossibly tangled in his shirtsleeves but not caring now, bucking as Qrow shoved his hands into his boxers, the contact enough to drag a long moan from Ozpin, the headmaster quivering against the touch. He was still Qrow – that is to say, rough and impatient – but somehow this felt new, different, like his roughness stemmed from wanting Ozpin in a manner beyond simple pleasure.

Qrow withdrew long enough to slip the boxers free, his eyes running along Ozpin’s exposed body hungrily.

“Care to return the favor?” Ozpin teased, despite the strained twitch of his cock.

Qrow growled a laugh. “Can’t say I have your patience,” he said, “but I like the view.” Nevertheless, he ran his palms along Ozpin’s chest, pausing to pinch a nipple, Ozpin yelping in surprise. He bucked his hips to grind against Qrow but Qrow pulled back, grinning.

“Tease,” Ozpin panted, restraining a frustrated groan.

“Hmm,” Qrow said, leaning to let the sound vibrate in Ozpin’s ear. “Think back to my last year here and think again. _You_ were the tease.” He took Ozpin’s earlobe in his mouth and Ozpin writhed at the wet noises, the heat that shot straight down to his groin, his hands grasping desperately at Qrow’s back.

If Ozpin had a retort, Qrow banished it, his mouth roving over the headmaster’s chest, biting a nipple until he cried out, his back arching, the pain mingling with the throb of his cock in a manner wholly sublime.

Qrow chuckled darkly. “So, Professor, tell me what you like.”

“I…” Ozpin steadied his breathing, the urgent need to grind against Qrow. “I don’t know, exactly. Each…body is different…”

Qrow met his eyes for a long moment, as though disbelieving the meaning there.

_Transparency._

Ozpin broke the eye contact, feeling his face flush. “I don’t have a point of reference…beyond what I’ve done with you.”

Qrow stared for a moment longer. Then his lips twitched and he inched further down Ozpin’s torso.

“Sounds like we’ll have to experiment then,” he whispered; his breath was hot against Ozpin’s cock and he whined, the ache there almost painful. Qrow’s hands parted Ozpin’s legs and his heart pounded in anticipation, waiting for Qrow to probe him, to prepare him for – 

He did not expect the hot, wet penetration of Qrow’s tongue and his back arched violently, his gasp devolving into a desperate moan, his untouched cock twitching.

_”Oh,_ Qrow – ”

But other words were choked off, Ozpin’s panting labored until he was too lightheaded to do anything but drown in the warmth that circled and entered him, his hips moving in time, bucking upward to push Qrow in further. But Qrow pulled back in order to bob his tongue in and out faster and Ozpin moaned too loudly now, unable to hold it in, his hands grasping at the sheets to prevent them from shaking, his knees buckling, restraining the desire to wrap them around Qrow’s head –

“Qrow, I – ”

Qrow raised his head and wiped his mouth in a manner so debauched that Ozpin bit his lip at the sight.

“What do you want, _Professor?”_

His tone was filth, a depraved reminder of Qrow’s former status.

“Please. _Please.”_

Qrow’s fingers entered him without warning and Ozpin arched off the bed with a gasp, one hand flailing until Qrow took it in his, the other working Ozpin open, drawing desperate moans from him, his hips canting, irregular and urgent. 

“That – that’s enough,” he gasped. “I can’t – I can’t take it – ”

“Yes, you can.”

Qrow’s chuckle reverberated like a cat purring, pulling out gently, leaning over the bed to reach for the lubricant on the side table, Ozpin trembling as he waited for relief –

But Qrow laughed again, pausing over Ozpin’s eager body.

“Do you know how long I wanted to do this?”

“As long as I’ve wanted you to do it.”

“Longer,” Qrow said, and he thrust in, leaving Ozpin no reply save for the cry of pleasure that he ripped from him, hands pulling at Qrow’s hips, pulling him closer, deeper, quivering around him. And yet Qrow did not immediately move, leaning over Ozpin to kiss him again, the headmaster rolling his own hips against him, softly, gently, feeling every inch of Qrow inside him, atop him, the pleasure building rapidly. At last, Qrow offered a tender thrust, meeting Ozpin’s hips, arms locked around one another, no space between them, Ozpin breaking the kiss so that he could breathe, eyes closing with the growing need of his body, gradually increasing the pace, Qrow reading him without words, the two moving together at last in harmony.

Everything felt desperate now, Ozpin dizzy with it, his hips canting harder, his cock painful –

“Qrow…”

Without another word, Qrow reached down and took Ozpin’s cock in hand, the headmaster moaning his name into his shoulder, feeling the orgasm build, hot and urgent and pleasure and torment all at once –

Qrow dragged his hand along his length and Ozpin was undone, arching against him, heat splattering against his stomach, muscles contracting with a violence that it echoed in the frantic moan that escaped him. Qrow faltered against him, swearing aloud, his grip on Ozpin’s cock tightening, and then a heat filled him, Qrow shuddering inside of him, pumping once, twice more, until Ozpin felt he would faint from the pleasure, shaking as he held Qrow against him.

Qrow collapsed entirely atop Ozpin, the headmaster letting out a quiet _oof_ at the abrupt weight, running hands along Qrow’s spine, movements made soft and lazy in the afterglow that washed over them.

A perfect moment, impossible to tell where one body began and ended from the other, Ozpin reaching up to brush damp hair from Qrow’s face, to trail down along his stubbled jawline.

“What’s with the look?” Qrow murmured, red eyes searching Ozpin’s face.

“Merely appreciating perfection.”

Qrow scoffed in disbelief. “Who says shit like that?”

“Someone who promised not to lie to you anymore.”

Qrow rolled his eyes but Ozpin could read the flattery beneath it. He slowly sat up, easing his cock free, the act gentler than ever.

“Won’t need your Aura this time,” he said.

Now it was Ozpin’s turn to scoff, turning his head to avoid watching the slow smirk spread over Qrow’s lips. Ozpin had neglected to mention the manner of his recoveries, but of course Qrow saw through the silence, reading Ozpin as easily as he did years before.

Qrow let the unspoken protest remain, glancing down at the fluid smeared across his abdomen. Ozpin opened his mouth to apologize for it, for the utter mess of themselves and the sheets, but then Qrow ran a finger through it and licked it clean.

Ozpin’s face burst into flames.

Qrow noticed immediately, grinning. “You taste good.”

A fresh wave of heat washed over him, Ozpin raising a hand to hide any amount of embarrassment he could, Qrow’s low laugh following. 

“You still blush,” he said, pleased by the fact.

“When you say and do things like that, how can I not?”

“It’s cute,” Qrow said. “But if you’re lookin’ for another round, I need a few.”

“That is _not_ what I was asking – ”

Qrow cut off the protest with a kiss and Ozpin’s shame melted away in an instant, pressing back automatically. If Qrow decided to open up to Ozpin at last, to not only allow intimacy but encourage it, then Ozpin could reserve time for embarrassment later.

“How ‘bout a shower?” Qrow said, between the press of their lips. “I think we can both fit in yours.”

_He’s staying. He’s not running away from this._

“Some filth cannot be washed away,” Ozpin murmured.

Qrow chuckled softly. “You love it.”

“I’ll need to change the sheets…again…”

“You might wanna wait. I plan on tryin’ to convince you to mess them up again.”

_He’s staying._

“You know you can,” Ozpin murmured, and felt the vibration of Qrow’s laugh against his mouth, the heat of his body atop him, the silence that followed soft and warm.

***

After three years of working as Professor Ozpin's personal assistant, Glynda Goodwitch was no longer surprised by anything.

Her years of training under Ferra Agrios had already prepared her for the eccentric mannerisms of her headmaster; paired with the man's extended illness after Ferra's retirement and the unpredictable nature of running a combat school in of itself, Glynda woke every morning to the resignation of the day's small crises. 

Despite Ferra's incessant warnings to Glynda that Ozpin was worse than useless, the young woman found the headmaster quite efficient, approachable, and otherwise a pleasant employer. There were days that were better than others (Glynda learned quickly that there was no such thing as too much coffee on reserve in the faculty lounge, unless she wanted to incur one of Ozpin's rare bad moods), but as a whole she felt that she was in perfect control of her position. The notes she once took as a student from Ferra had been transcribed into a single file on her scroll, a sort of rule book to handling her unusual headmaster and how to best motivate and care for him. Ferra always said she knew nothing about Ozpin, because the man never spoke of himself; Glynda did not expect him to, and so made observations on her own, satisfied when one of her perceptive comments made Ozpin glance at her in surprise. 

He was, after all, a man of regular habits and character, and so "babysitting" him - as Ferra had charmingly called it - was easier once those habits were recorded. Instead of Ferra's often resentful attitude, Glynda took the personal care of Ozpin simply as part of her job, bringing him lunch when she knew he would skip it, reminding him of just how many cookies he had at the last faculty meeting, confirming the estimated hour he had finally gone to bed given the emails sent at 3:47AM. 

Each time he glanced at her over the frames of his glasses, Glynda made a note in her scroll about being correct in her deductions. After three years, she was never wrong. 

Today, however, something had changed. Not just today, but recently, an almost sudden change in the headmaster she couldn't explain. She did not like not knowing the reason for his good mood, for the gradual decline of emails at 3:47AM, for the unexplained absences at faculty meetings, for the wave of a hand at her lunch offerings because he claimed to have already eaten. 

She should be happy at this sudden shift in Ozpin's self-care, but that wasn't the only change. Already tight-lipped about everything, the headmaster had a newer, extreme sense of privacy, locking down everything that he previously had granted Glynda access. His computer password changed ("one mustn't leave these the same for too long," he said, in the tone she understood was a dismissal). He even increased the security to his office, Glynda's fingerprints no longer allowing her immediate access, instead resorting to using the com line, which she hadn't done since her first year, after convincing Ozpin that being the only man with access was more dangerous than protective. 

"The point still stands, sir," she said, matter-of-factly. "Should you be away or injured in an emergency, it would be best for me to have the ability to enter unobstructed."

Ozpin sat at his desk, his hands resting on the top of his cane, and listened while nodding - a sure sign that he was not going to agree with her but was too polite to interrupt. 

"I'll take it under advisement," he said - a sure sign he intended to do nothing. 

"At least give Branwen access," she said, "if you would prefer him knowing all your secrets."

Not that Glynda had seen Qrow Branwen in years; after his graduation, he all but vanished. Glynda assumed he still worked for Ozpin, coming and going without even Glynda noticing.

_Does he tell Qrow things he doesn’t tell me?_

The thought annoyed her.

"A curious suggestion," the headmaster said noncommittally. "I'll consider it."

Glynda almost sighed. Nothing would change. 

She dropped the matter and instead moved to more professional subjects, offering an update current business, both professors ignoring the soft chime of Ozpin's scroll from his pocket. 

The chime repeated when she began a discussion about the incoming fall students, pausing to shoot the headmaster an impatient expression. 

"Would you like to check that, sir?"

"It's not important," he said, as the device pinged a third time. 

"It sounds like it."

"It can wait."

"Shall I, sir?" she asked, holding out her hand. 

"Oh, no," he said, almost too quickly. "It's...personal. Nothing concerning."

Glynda withdrew her hand. _Personal?_ The headmaster didn't have personal matters. He didn't seem to do a thing that wasn't drink coffee and work. Nevertheless, she continued her update, ignoring the curious pings of Ozpin's scroll and the mystery the messages may contain. 

She left the office hours later, still thinking about the unexplained texts, the strange changes in a man who hadn't altered his ways in more years than she could know. 

She alighted from the elevator and nearly collided with Qrow Branwen. 

_So I was right. He’s still here._

She excused herself politely, still not familiar enough with the man to feel wholly comfortable in his presence. All she knew was that he worked for Ozpin but pretended not to, gone on missions to ensure the safety of women Ozpin once told her had magical powers. 

She still wasn't entirely sure what to make of any of it. She did know, however, that despite the fairy tale feel of it all, Ozpin had never been more serious. 

Qrow accepted her courtesy with the nod of his head. “New Ferra,” he said, by way of greeting.

“Not funny, Mr. Branwen.”

"Blondie," he corrected.

Glynda grit her teeth.

"It's Goodwitch," she said. _"Professor."_

"Glynda," he said nonchalantly, strolling into the elevator as she vacated. 

She sighed. "Fine." It was a small compromise, considering that Qrow wasn't a student, despite her preference for formality. 

He grinned at her, an insufferable smirk that made her question - so many times - why Ozpin put up with such a man. 

"Oz in his office, then?" Qrow asked, taking a leather-wrapped flask from his back pocket.

"Yes," she said, noting the familiar nickname with a frown. "And can you not drink on campus? In front of students?"

He shrugged, tipping the flask to his lips as though simply to annoy her. "I don't work here," he said with a wink. "Besides, I don't see any students." 

Glynda suppressed a sigh. “I haven’t seen you skulking about Professor Ozpin’s office in some time.”

“Yeah, well. ‘Cause I haven’t been.”

“I’ve gotten accustomed to things without you interrupting the headmaster’s schedule.”

“Then you better get unaccustomed,” Qrow said, “’cause I’m gonna be doing that again. A lot.”

He screwed the flask cap back on, one hand replacing it in his pocket while the other typed a quick code on the keypad. The access light flickered form red to green. He gave her a brief wave as the doors slid shut, leaving Glynda to consider why in the world Qrow already had direct access to Ozpin's office when her own had just been revoked. 

She let out a long breath from her nose, a flare of irritation reminding her that there had been no shortage of warnings from Ferra Agrios to keep Glynda from accepting her job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience while we worked to get this chapter perfected! We plan on taking a small hiatus from TSB while we regroup, edit, and prep future chapters of The Later Years. We'll also be working on a number of other projects and AUs, which we hope will provide more cloqwork for the soul in the meantime ~ 💚


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